Now, let me get this straight: I am not a bully. Nor am I so shallow as to judge others on something as meaningless as how they look.
In fact, scratch that one, I sort of am.
Put it this way, I couldn’t care less about your nose. But I guess it’s my duty to clear something up.
You’ve heard of Rudolph right? Well, his er, nose?
That’s not genetic.
I’ve seen pictures of his parents before. Black as coal.
Do you know why? Do you know why his nose is that colour?
He’s drunk! Like, always, forever.
And I’ve told him – I’ve told him you’d better stop drinking or your liver will explode and stuff, but does he listen to me? No. Nobody ever listens to silly old Prancer.
Is it my voice? Do I have something on my face?
All he says is, “Naw, Prancey”, he says, “Naw, Ah’m no drunk. That is the biggest load o’ codswallop that Ah’ve ever heard.”
Then he throws up on my couch.
Or Cupid’s couch.
Or Donner’s couch.
Never his own I’ve noticed, because that doesn’t inconvenience anyone but him.
And his, his … propaganda, which you all spread around like a plague that you purposely give to your young.
Actually, no it isn’t. You’re all just assuming things.
There’s a reason why we don’t let him play games with us. The last straw was in 1992. Picture the scene…
It’s Christmas Eve and we’re all over at Cupid’s place: Dasher, Dancer, Donner, Blitzen, the whole gang. We’re excited of course, because it’s Christmas and Big Red’s about to choose his lead. And we’re all pretending we’re not that bothered, but really, we all know that whoever gets it is unofficial king or queen of Reindeer Land for three hundred and whatever days.
I, being the selfless and fair individual that I am, am completely behind whatever individual that was to be chosen that day (except if it was going to be Dancer, cos she’s a sneaky cow). But we’re all being civil, playing monopoly and chatting away. Dancer’s winning, but only because she took a 500 from the bank when she thought I wasn’t looking.
Then, Rudolph comes in, swaying and staggering like a fallen tree and the lumberjack that’s broke his leg under it. He’s screaming and shouting to be allowed to play, so we let him. And Cupid’s shaking by this point, because there’s already mud on the carpet and he’s just bought a new couch. And then Rudolph lands on one of my houses straight away. Naturally, I’m pleased, because I get more money that way, and cos I hate him, but he has to go and ruin it, doesn’t he? He has to go and ruin it. He flips the board. Just when I should be winning, (Isn’t that right, Dancer?)
He throws up in the boss’s hat and crashes out the door.
Then Santa comes along. He’s getting a bit old and doddery, bless his soul, and he can’t find the foglights. So when he sees Rudolph’s nose, shining like a beacon of hope and whisky on the doormat, something clicks.
“Ho, ho, ho,” he says. “Ho, ho, ho! Rudolph, old friend. Your nose! It’s perfect!”
And Rudolph can’t take this, so he starts crying. Can you believe it? Grown reindeer, sobbing his eyes out at a wee comment about his nose.
“Way to rub it in, Tubby!”
Some of the reindeer wince, but Santa doesn’t notice. He doesn’t speak Reindeer, and he goes and gives him the lead.
And we’re not having this, no we are not! Imagine if your drunken lout of a co-worker was given a promotion specifically because he was a drunken lout. You wouldn’t like it.
So Blitzen goes up to him and says, “You drunken lout!” but Rudolph doesn’t care. He’s in the harness already.
That take-off was the worst I’ve ever experienced.
The Guide has to know where he’s going, see? Or everything will go wrong. And Rudolph doesn’t know his way sober. Or he wouldn’t, if he ever was.
He goes round in circles and he’s swaying and Cupid’s screaming and I’m just trying to stop moving and then we fall.
We fall, and we could have crashed , if Santa wasn’t, you know, magical.
But the presents need to go out. There were presents that year, thank God. The elves went out and bought foglights and Cupid was Guide because he might be a little neervous and excitable but at least he’s not drunk.
And Rudolph did go down in history, as the first reindeer ever sent to rehab for alcohol counselling.