An Intervention With Santa’s Reindeers

December 15th 2014

“Is he going to see this?”

“Is who going to see this?”

“…Santa?”

“No, Santa won’t see this.”

“Are you sure, Olive?”

 “I’m sure, Prancer. We shook on it.”

“Yeah but I have hooves so I’m not sure what the technicalities are here.”

“Hooves count.”

“Do they? Okay…just checking…what about the elves?”

“The elves won’t see this either.”

“Not even Chuck? The head guy? He’s like 3’4. Level with my reindeer parts and very prone to violence…”

Tell it to someone who cares, Chuck.

Tell it to someone who cares, Chuck.

“Not even Chuck.”

“Alright gang.” Prancer said after a pause. “I think it’s safe to do this.”

All

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

 v v v v v v v v v

Looked at me.

Santa’s reindeer, that is. 

I stirred a hot cup of cider with a notepad in hand, while they all took a few sake bombs and attempted to take their seat.

Going well.

Going well.

  << Rewind.

It was a normal night out just a few evenings ago, when I was having a brew with a couple of friends.

Dressed as a donut with Mary Poppins and Audrey Hepburn to be exact...

Dressed as a donut with Mary Poppins and Audrey Hepburn nonetheless…

When we spotted a slew of hairy gentleman that looked distraught across the way.

Clearly some turmoil going on here.

Clearly some turmoil going on here.

Shameless and 3 tequila shots in, we decided to approach these seemingly familiar fellows and inquire about their woes (whilst potentially swinging a free drink too.)

Thanx.

Thanx.

They looked overworked. Tired. Chain-eating candy canes and telling us their “boss” would be “beckoning for them any minute now.”

“Why? It’s 10 pm on a Saturday night. What could he possibly need you for?”

They >> << all looked at >>> each<<< other and told me “never mind.”

“Why? Tell me!”

“No. We can’t. Sorry. It’s confidential information.”

“Confidential? That word is dumb. Now you have to tell me.”

Beep beep.

“Shit. Santa just beeped us.” said one claiming to be called “Vixen.”

“SANTA?!”

I screamed.

“Great job, dumbass, now you let it slip who we are.”

“My bad, Cupid,” Vixen said with genuine remorse.

“No more lemon drops for you. And definitely no Funyons later. You’ve lost your privileges.”

“Okayyyyyy.”

Now I knew.

And they knew I knew.

And I knew they knew I knew.

And that’s when they got up to leave.

“WAIT.” 

 I yelled as they headed for the door. >>

“What?”

“I’m a writer and I think I can help you.”

“Help us? How?”

“Do a story. An interview. Set the record straight about a day in the night with Santa. Set you free. All that shit.”

“That’s quite the promise.”

 “I don’t promise things I don’t mean.”

“That’s not true.”

“I know. But I mean this one.”

“I’m sorry kid, I don’t think we can do it. Too risky.”

“I’ll bring carrots and grey goose.”

“Done.”

I told them to meet me at 3pm the next day. At a building downtown. No windows. Soundproof walls. And just in case I used a bag of Funyons as bait.

…except.

Not exactly who I was trying to attract but okay.

Not exactly who I was trying to attract but okay.

 And then the day came. And it was finally 3:00pm.

I waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited.

Until.

It was finally 3:01 pm when they collectively waltzed through the door. > > > > > > > > >

I kept my cool.

HEY GUYSSS

HEYYOOOOO

Even though I was elated to apart of the scandal.

Prancer seemed to be the leader. Taking initiative and asking me things like if “Santa would see this.” Something about the validity of his hooves and another thing about an elf named Chuck.

I remedied his woes. Poured myself a glass of cider and passed out my promised carrots and Grey Goose only to realize they had BTOSB (bring their own sake bombs)

And alas after they finally found their seat.

10 minutes later...

10 minutes later…

We began our intervention. And I made sure to start with something grand. Something emotional. Said in a tone that was unmistakably profesh:

“Is it weird being a bitch?”

“What?”

“Oh I mean um. How is it working for Santa?”

“50 pounds ago? Not bad. But since the dawn of girl scout cookies that sleigh is packin WAY more than just presents, AMMIRITE BOYS?!”

He was right.

“Interesting. And how did you all get your names? Prancer, do you want to go first?”

“Yeah well I mean my birth name is Steve. But then one day this big dude purchased me at a llama farm #adopted, tied me to a cart and began spanking me every Christmas whilst chanting ‘Prancer.’…I’m not mad. Just confused.”

“Well for me,” said the next, “He had me do a dance off with all the arctic animals in our neighborhood for his own amusement. Joke was on him. Because I won!…but then…joke was back on me because then he decided to call me “Dancer” from that day forth. #creativityalert.”

“Mine’s sort of embarrassing,” chimed the third, “Back when Santa was a bro’s bro, I used to tell him about my lady troubles. Let it slip I had a thing with a dolphin once…the 90’s were a weird time…ANYWAY. Didn’t call her back. Santa went on this whole naughty list spiel and told me I was the worst. Anyway. He said I was rude and didn’t want me to forget it so he started calling me ‘Rude-dolphin’ or ‘Rudolph’ for short.”

“That’s how you got your name?” said Comet. “I didn’t even know that dude. That’s humiliating.”

“Shut up bro you’re named after bleach.”

“Yeah…he’s not wrong…Santa became literate about 20 years back, (just trusted elves with all the name-reading and the spelling of “F-u-r-b-y” and shit.) Anyway when he finally became hooked on phonics, the first thing he saw after his 8th lesson was a can of bleach. He sounded out ‘CCCOMMMETT” and I was just sitting there eating cheetos and was like ‘what?’ because I was the only mammal in a 5 mile radius. And as a celebratory response he decided to make that shit permanent.”

“Fuck. That’s unfortunate. What about you, Cupid?”

“Have you ever heard of that dating app ‘OK Cupid’?”

“….yes.”

“Yeah…so I thought I was meet some doe named La Quinta from the Bronx….but then this guy showed up.”

Perfect match.

Perfect match.

And I went to make a serious run for it.

But.

He grabbed my 3rd leg and told me to. ‘Wait.” ‘Give him a chance.’ ‘He had something to say.’ And that’s when he swooned me with a sleigh of presents and handful of alfafa sprouts and I was like whatever. Leash me.”

“A reindeer of standards I see.”

“Totally. Bros before does.”

“And Blitzen?”

“What.”

“How did you get your name?”

“I’m just a trashy mess.”

“Got it. And you Donner?”

“Oh this was before Santa was hooked on phonics. Not sure if he was trying to spell “Don” or “Donna” on my contract but he definitely spelled out “Donger” and everyone felt weird so I tried to change it slightly so he wouldn’t notice. But given that I have hooves I was only able to change the “g” to an “n” which, you know, you take when you can get.”

“Makes total sense. And you Vixen? You seem to have the coolest name. Kind of sexy. How’d you earn that one?”

“…I don’t want to say…”

“Oh come on everyone else told us.”

“No.”

“Don’t be a ho.”

“Too late.”

“…Point taken. Alright so moving on. How are your hours?”

“Depends on the season I guess,” said Donger/Donner, “January – November we’re useless as ornament balls but when December rolls around shit gets real.”

“We do lots of mall visits…” said Comet. “Lots of pictures with thought-provoking signs say that ‘North Pole This Way!’ And babies that have no control over their bodily functions.”

“Easy gig. But sometimes messy.” said Dancer.

“Yeah man and everyone just thinks they know you. I get drunk and put on a clown nose at a party ONE TIME.” yelled Rudolph.

“Simmer downnnn Rudolph. You’re drunk.”

“Like you’re one to talk, Blitzen.”

“True, true.”

“So would you guys say that you’re overall happy with your top tier reindeer gig? If you were to be done tomorrow. Would you do it?”

They all paused. Because they weren’t sure what to say.

Sure Santa had his moments. Whipped them from Waikiki to Wyoming. And literally had no self-control when it came to cookies and straight giggling.

He can't tamed.

He can’t be stopped.

But he was a good guy with decent intentions that offered free travel (albeit by default), and bottomless breakfast every Tuesday at 10.

“No, I guess we wouldn’t quit.” admitted Dancer.

“Yeah, he doesn’t have a very versatile sense of style, but he saved me from a llama orphanage and I feel like that was pretty cool.” added Prancer.

“YOU KNOW WHAT I THINK.”

“Shut up Rudolph.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah I’m with the rest of the guys,” said Comet. “He pays for all of my hoof-polishing appointments and also played laser tag with me once.”

“That actually tales me back to our Ok Cupid date,” relayed Cupid.

“And?”

“That’s it. Idk I just wanted to chime in because everyone else said something.”

“You’re useless.”

“Not everyone can be as ‘useful’ as you Vixen.”

(intermission for violence)

Donger/Donner, Blitzen and Vixen sat face-deep in carrots and said they were in agreeance with all the above. That they wouldn’t quit. Because it was sort of fun sometimes. And it let them roll tide in a posse with the Easter Bunny and some leprehauns too. And just like that they packed up their jingly bracelets and said their goodbyes, wished me a happy holiday and said they would see me soon.

“To drop off presents at my house for Christmas?!”

“No. For Funyons.”

“…Right.”

“Right…”

And then they left. But before they kicked the door closed, Prancer said to me.

“On second thought, can we not publish this anywhere online? Since we decided to stay? Just in case?”

“You got it.”

“Thanks.”

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