He knows when you’ve been sleeping. He knows when you’re awake. That’s more than a little disturbing. How does he know? Satellites? Spyware? Wire tapping? Rats with cameras? The fat boy in red is too lazy to gather intel* himself and has a new weapon to fight the war on naughtiness: its name is Elf on the Shelf.**
The official propaganda is that at the start of each Christmas season, usually around Thanksgiving, this special scout elf is sent from the North Pole to help Santa Claus micromanage his naughty and nice lists, but you deserve the truth. This elf squirms his way into the household, often tricking the family into adopting and naming the little imp.
Each evening, when everyone is sleeping, the imposter teleports, using alien technology stolen from the government’s secret base, Area 51. He then narks to that overweight old man what information he gathered. It might be your social security number, your browser history, or where the good liquor is kept. Each morning he returns to a new location and to learn new secrets.
There are rules for the family, though he plays by none. Supposedly, his “magic” is lost if you touch him, and that means no gifts for you. I say: do it! Do you really want a little sneak reporting every little thing you do? Parents are worried. Kids are terrified. I hate him.
He won’t move or speak when anyone is awake. Some master spy. Anyone can be totally ninja if the enemy has to keep his eyes closed. His job is to wait, watch, and listen. You know, to be Santa’s little snitch until it is time to return to the North Pole on Christmas Eve. There he lurks until he infiltrates next year.
I say there’s no reason to make Christmas a terrible season. I won’t lead you astray, or to a dead end. Forget that creepy elf. He’s not your friend. I won’t give you a list of impossible chores. I won’t be preachy or make you mop floors.
I live in your drawer, and I like to have fun. I enjoy hanging out, playing games, and joking around. I was here before that darn elf. I won’t report you to the big guy just because you forgot to make your bed. That smug elf lets his mission go to his head. You don’t need fear to know what’s wrong. I’m going to make everything right.
It’s time you heard the real story. Not the one about the elf and the shelf, but the one about me. I am here all year long. I am always with you, and I deserve to be a new Christmas tradition. I’m The Dwarf in the Drawer***
*Intel is slang for military intelligence, which is an oxymoron if I ever heard one
**Elf on the Shelf is the evil plot of Carol Aebersold and her wicked daughter Chanda Bell.
***The Dwarf in the Drawer: A Mischievous Parody is the counterinsurgency operation devised by L. Van King and illustrated by Chuck Gonzales.
You’ve nothing to hide if you’ve done nothing wrong? Or Snitches get stitches? Email me at from_my_shelf@yahoo.com and let me know. Been naughty and miss a past column? You can make it all good by visiting http://frommyshelf.blogspot.com. Hobo knows three cats can keep a secret if two of them are sleepin, sleeping with the fishes that is, though he prefers chicken to fish…
No comments:
Post a Comment