Friday, December 7, 2012

Stripper Elves Have Holiday Spirit, Right?

Alright, it's Christmas time.

Xmas.

...Consumerism mass.

Ass.


My friend was bored to tears at work and asked me to tell her a story.

Here is what she looks like holding a thick chocolate shake that is too large for her:



In any case, anyone who knows me understands that if I'm asked a question or a reasonable task, I will comply.

This often involves nudging me and reminding me though, as my memory is both jack and shit.

SO

I wrote a thing.

Oddly enough, I wrote a Christmas thing.

There are four key characters in this and you will see them as they are introduced. I'm leaving the illustrations black and white for now so that anyone can print them out or take them to color in. If you do a fun job of coloring them, send them my way at deddrie@gmail.com so I can see your interpretation!


*ahem*

Once upon a time, there was an elf named Squibble. 





Squibble had worked for Santa for many years. The hours were long and grueling. Only the three richest kids even got their handiwork these days. The rest was all being outsourced to China and India and that was not what Squibble signed up for!

So he went on strike. Unfortunately, he was the only one to go on strike, as no other elves had any issues with how things were done.

An elf from public relations ran a memo down to Squibble announcing his “forced retirement”...
This was odd, as Squibble was a young elf.



As he cleaned out his tiny elf desk and found his thimble mug and teeny tiny stapler, a girl elf, his replacement, stepped up.

Her name was Bumple, but everyone called her “Glitter” since her stripper days.



She looked at him with sadness in her eyes as he walked away. She sat down at her new desk.
Glitter noticed something shiny. It was a pencil sharpener, and a rather nice one. It had his name engraved on the side.


 

“Oh noes!” cried Glitter, “I must return this to Squibble!”

Well, by then Squibble had already hopped on the polar train to go back to his shitty elf apartment.
Glitter didn't know where Squibble lived.
She asked around.
No records were kept of ex Santa elves.
Hell, he'd be lucky to get a reference, and it wouldn't even be from Ol' Nick himself.

She decided to look for clues.



His trashcan contained a tea bag, three tissues and a used condom.

Jiggles thought Glitter was strange for going through the garbage, but she explained that the used condom was from her romp with Squibble in the back office.

Jiggles couldn't say where Squibble lived exactly, but she had heard him mention Downtown.



...Also, she was about the only one in the factory to give Squibble a “good review”...


So on Glitter went, sharpener and tea bag in hand. Downtown was filled with icky penguins. They wore rubber suits and asked her to go “diving” and to “get some fish” with them.




Before long, Glitter happened upon a specialty tea shop. “Tea Baggins” was owned by a chubby hobbit, Bob. The signs in the window showed bags like the one Glitter held.
Bob told her that only two elves ever bother to shop there. One sounded like Squibble and had left a matchbox from Honkers bar and strip joint.



Glitter snatched the matches and marched off to Honkers. The ladies there were rude and hated Glitter for her success as a stripper in the good part of town.

After much harassment, finally a college student gnome who was stripping just to pay her way through gnome-med school said, “I remember someone like who you describe. He asked for a lap dance and then started crying about his mother. He even brought me to meet her. Super awkward.”



The gnome remembered the address of the mother, drew it out on a napkin and handed it to Glitter.

“It's a big old house just that way. I think it's haunted!” She pointed and Glitter shot out the door.
“HOPE YOU AREN'T ALLERGIC TO CATS” the gnome yelled after her.

The house was huge and dusty as Glitter gingerly stepped inside. “Hello?” Glitter called out meekly to no answer.

“He-hello? ACK!” A thing that may have at one point been a cat ran through her legs.



Glitter passed the kitchen, noting how few knives were in the rack.

She passed a bedroom that looked disheveled and stained...

Then, the only room left...

The basement.

“Shit” said Glitter.

As she reached for the door, clutching the sharpener as though it may save her life...

A hand shot out and grabbed her by the arm. Glitter screamed!

The old elf looked at Glitter, then put on her comically large glasses to look harder.
“I don't want any Elfscout Cookies! They give me the runs! Go way!” said the old elf.

“No, no.” Glitter clutched her left breast as she tried to catch her breath.
“I'm looking for your son, Squibble.”

The old elf laughed and said, “Oh thank the lord! He found one that isn't a skank! Come on to the dining room Dear. We'll have some tea.”

Glitter was tired and questioned if she should get involved with this guy Squibble in any way.
Still, the tea was hot and the cats were well enough behaved.



Just as Glitter had begun to ignore the eighth embarrassing tale of Squibble's youth in favor of watching a cat lick its own anus for half an hour, there was a knock at the door.

“Hey Mom, listen. I know I just said I'd never move back here, but I just got fired today and-”
Squibble looked up to see Glitter clutching a tea cup, his sharpener on the table, a book of embarrassing photos out, one of the cats was in his mother's hair and another was obviously thinking about shitting on Glitter's feet.
“The fuck is happening?” asked Squibble.

“Oh Dear! This is Glitter from your office! You should marry her.” The old elf beamed.

Squibble said, “Mom, we don't even know each-”

“SHUT UP AND GIVE ME GRANDCHILDREN BEFORE I'M DEAD YOU LITTLE SHIT” said the old elf.




Glitter handed him the sharpener. They smiled. The three of them smoked a bowl and Glitter got Jiggles to come over and help them clean.

The old woman never got her grandchildren, but she was so senile that she didn't really know the difference anyway.




Eventually she passed away and Glitter, Jiggles and Squibble lived happily ever after in sin.

Also, Squibble wrote a book about aging cats and wound up with way too much money.
He thought about donating it, but too many years working for the man left him just wanting boats, bling, and elf pussy.

The end. 




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