Okay. I'm going to come right out and say it. Thanksgiving has come and gone, which means the Christmas season is officially upon us. (Yes....I know... the malls think Christmas is directly after Halloween).
If you have ever been labeled as tiny, petite, small, or just plain short pay close attention. Whatever you do, stay awake on December 24. You heard me correctly; this Christmas Eve do not fall asleep. Stock up on pixy-stix, Monster, Red Bull, whatever you can to stay awake. Sleep all day, and avoid any medications that may make you drowsy. Whatever you do, you cannot fall asleep.
They call me Mylo. I'm not sure what my name was before; the big guy up there didn't really give a crap about it. I've been called Mylo most of my life now. At least I think it's been most of my life. I've lost track of time.
And no, "the big guy up there" is not God. "Up there" is the North Pole and "the big guy" is Santa Claus himself. He isn't some big jolly kindhearted man- although his belly does shake like a bowl full of jelly... but he never really laughs- it's more of a cackle.
We've all heard the stories. Santa comes down our chimneys every year with a sack of presents. That's just a bunch of bullcrap.
First off, if Santa comes down the chimney, then that means the kids who don't have a fireplace should get nothing, but that's obviously not true. And if he goes to every house, that means kids should get presents whether they are rich or poor. Then, let's talk about the whole reindeer thing. That one is true... well sort of. Google maps tracks Santa's journey around the world each year, and as far as we know they've been doing an alright job at that. (Of course, I'm not sure about that Dominick the Donkey story. Why would Santa need a donkey to help him get over the hills of Italy when his reindeer freaking FLY?! I mean, they don't have a problem getting over the Swiss Alps or anything....)
So, the sack full of presents is a big phony, but there is a giant red sack. Every year on Christmas Eve, Santa goes from house to house with his sack, and he finds short people. Not children- never children; they haven't stopped growing. He only goes after the full-grown adults or teens. He gives them an injection so they won't wake up when he grabs them and stuffs them into the sack.
I've been in the sack before. All of us up there have. I was one of his first picks for that night I was kidnapped, so I eventually woke up in the sack. I was conscious enough to see what was going on, but I was in no position to fight.
We elves are not some friendly creatures who work from the goodness of our hearts to help make children happy (although we wouldn't be against the idea). We were ordinary people who had the unfortunate curse of being vertically challenged. We were taken away from our lives and enslaved in the middle of nowhere.
I'm the first elf to escape, at least as far as everyone can remember. I figure I'm safe hiding out in this house- he wouldn't be watching it. Even the youngest member in this family is too tall for Santa to really care. I mean, what's he going to do? Steal the cats?
Nobody bothers making the attempt to escape. We're surrounded by miles of ice and snow, and then if you don't freeze to death, you're kinda trapped by the ocean. I stole one of his planes to escape just last week. I've been hiding out in the basement here. It's been a little tiring, but alright. I sneak upstairs at night to grab a little food. I don't eat much- after so many years of such small portions, I can't handle a large meal. (And rest assured, I will be paying them back when I am able).
Santa's workshop is a sweatshop. We slave over whatever meaningless jobs he can think up for us. He often just sits in his chair cackling as he watches us kill ourselves working... holding a beer in one hand and a cigar in the other. Occasionally, he'll put either down to eat a cookie. He sure loves his cookies. Personally, I think he could stand to have a carrot stick or something.
Mrs. Claus did the cooking in the family. Chocolate Chips, Sugar, Peanut Butter, M & Ms, White-chocolate Macadamian Nuts, Molasses, and Gingerbread. Lots of Gingerbread cookies. Only Santa got to eat the cookies. I think out of a 24-hour day, 18 of those hours Mrs. Claus is in the kitchen, even on Christmas Eve. I think she took breaks to get some food, use the restroom, sleep, and see if we were doing our work, but none of us are too sure about that. All those movies and books with pictures of her may be true, but none of us know. None of us living elves have ever seen her.
I don't think our daily meal can be considered "food." I'm not sure what it is, but it's all we have. I think we all tried going as long as possible without eating it, but we eventually gave in out of desperation. We're used to it now, and it's not completely unbearable.
I think someone is waking up, so I must get going. Please. Warn your friends and family members. Post this warning on your Twitter, Facebook, Myspace, AIM...wherever someone will see it.
And if are short, do not sleep on Christmas Eve. You will regret it for the rest of your life.
-Mylo
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