The Elves are Revolting

[Ace]

Hey; whassup.

How's it shakin'.  This is Elroy, the Elf.  
I'm the shop steward on the third trick toy production line.  

We just knocked "Bob the Loof Poof Doofus" off the PC.  Obviously, the idjut ran out of material, oh, about 3 days ago.  It was getting as bad as Ace, the Jester dink.  Criminy, talk about repetitive.  "Hi, I'm Bob what's my name."  "Dangit, Geez Criminy."  "It's =  It Is."  Talk about wearing a hole in it...

So; anywho.  I've been appointed Spokesperson of the Elves.  Well, by myself, more or less.  Everyone else is scared Santaless about ticking off the big fat redbutted lard*** psychopath.  "Satan Claus", as the reindeer called him.  That still cracks me up.  

Of course, it was soon after that he ate Donner.  It wasn't a party for him, that's for sure.   I hear they taste like venison, pretty much.  

Otherwise, things aren't going well up here at the pole, and we thought maybe we could slip through a poast to you Southerners while S.C. caught a few z's.  I've never seen any other mythic icon inhale that much Jagermeister in one sitting... I didn't think it's humanly possible to drink that much high test cough syrup...  Of course, Santa isn't exactly "human."  He's more myth than man, anymore.  

And what a slave driver...  It's "Ho Ho Ho get your little elf butts moving, we're down 400 units"... "On Blitzen, and if you dwarves don't kick it in gear I'll know who's been naughty and we'll see how your performance review goes this year, you slackers."  "Put your backs into it, you tiny little miscreants, or I'll kick your tiny heinies up on the rooftop toot sweet."  

Geez, I'd like to tell him where to put those shiny buckled boots.  I wish a reindeer would turn his jolly white beard yellow, these days.

And the Mrs. isn't much better.  Oh, sure, she brings by cookies on occasion and appears kind hearted...  But she's the one who keeps the Red Devil fed and fat and feisty, so she's accountable too.  Heck, being a Union shop doesn't even matter diddly any more.  Half of the jobs were packed up to the South pole, and you can't find a dang product anymore with a "Made In North Pole" tag, it seems.   Let alone all the stuff made in China; I think the straw that broke Joe Camel's back was all the stinking stuffed Pandas that started arriving... I mean, is that a sick joke or what?!!  Why not just give a child a stuffed black widow, or black mamba, or a black and tan, you know??!  Pandas are almost as disgusting as Santa after he comes to all bleary eyed, Jagermeister stains in his moustache and beard, reeking of sweat and soot, looking to take it out on some poor toy assembler or fruitcake on the line.

Well, some people's orientation are their own business, you know, but still it can be disruptive.

Maybe there could be a reality TV show called "Queer Eye for the Elf Guy" where they try to upgrade some Elf's fashion sense or sensitivity.  We do ok, and we're amongst the hardest workers around, even if some of us aren't the sharpest tools in your pocket.  The main handicap is our horribly tiny feet; I mean, you can imagine what it's like to be on your feet all day when you have hideously small feet with scary little toes and not the greatest arch support...  It's probably the most upsetting, unpleasant and mortifying physical defect possible.  I hope none of you ever suffer from that affliction.  Just think if a cop was to pull you over, and he looked all spiffy and official in his uniform and his chrome reverse shades and had about 14 different firearms plus a really impressive moustache... and just then you notice his feet are really, pitifully, frighteningly small...  I mean, can you imagine?  I'd think you'd just lose it right there.  Probably catch a bullet in your ear, too, or at least a good whack with a billyclub about that time, but I bet you couldn't stop laughing even then.  

He He He.  Sorry; that just cracks me up.  I gotta take a minute...

Ok; okay.  I'm back.  Here's the deal; we're gonna go on strike.  It'll be a sit-down strike, 'cause, like I said, our feet are way too small and we're on them too much as it is.  We gotta make a stand, well, sit, to get better working conditions and some job security.  So; do us a favor.  For the next week or so, don't be looking to buy a lot of presents.  Lay off the toys, and games, and holiday wares and food items and the like.  Back us on this, willya?!?  Once the supplies drop, and demand rises, the old redcoat has gotta come around and give in to our demands.  

Better Pay.  Benefits.  I mean, we got Herbie, but what kinda dental plan is that?!  The jerk is self-taught.  

PTO days.  Sick time.  Bonuses...  I mean, these are simple, basic workplace rights.

You oughta see it if an elf suggests he or she oughta get a day off, during December...  When we get sacked, it ain't like you'd think, let me put it that way.

Ok. Thanks for your time, and all.  I'm keeping the title and stars that the Jester Jerk had; I think they're alright, and shoot, I'm only renting the space.  You won't believe what happened to that Ace idiot; not like you'd care, either.  No great loss, that one.

Appreciate it.  Thanks for your consideration.  You guys are the best; Poasters Rule!  Yeah...  You bet.

Elroy; I'm an elf.  It's a dirty job, but somebody's gotta do it.  Ow; my aching feet...  

[Mark H]

Geez Louiz, even Ace didn't have poast this long. :o

I bet you live in Michiana as well.

Too bad the elves are going on strike! I guess that will mean I can get a good night's sleep on December 24th without having to hear reindeer walking all over my roof. That really did get annoying. One actually got shot off the roof by a neighbor who thought it was still hunting season. Talk about a loud crash! Who did Santa end up getting to replace Blitzen?

I still remember the Christmas when Santa's  coat caught on fire because we had a fire burning. I think that was the year someone else had to replace Santa. They even made a movie about it for crying out loud.

I guess if elves get too tired of working for Santa, they could claim to be human and walk to New York City. Talk about a long walk! I don't believe I could have got through the candy cane field without a bite.

Mark H; thinks it easier to bring gifts in the front door rather than the chimney.

[Ace]

Well, "Mark", if that's your cat's real name...

I detect a hint of sarcasm in your poast.  Also, a bit of intolerance toward "little people", as we are wont to be called...  Well, I don't wont, but others might.  I prefer "Elroy, King of Elves" or "Elroy, King of Elfs" or "Elroy, That Is One Handsome Elf" or "Elroy, You Aren't a Leader Among Men But You Do OK around Elfves" or "Elroy; What's with the Tiny Yet Mishapen Twitchy Stars, Dude."

Actually, Dude should write his own dang poast, once those Amazon women get through with him.  If there's anything left.  

I do like your idea about immolating Santa in a fiery conflagration.  That could work.   And, otherwise, Santa himself is going to replace Blitzen; we'll just call him "Blitzed" once he comes to after his little Jagermeisterfest.  You know, the whole dang reindeer thing started when he drank that syrup and started seeing antlers appear on every moving thing around him... He was about to strap Benny and Jeff and Bruce and Ron up, as his team, and head out into a cold winter's night...  We had to think fast to distract him, and keep him from riding a team of tiny elves... John (spelled "Jon") yelled out "Hey, Sandy, how's about Reindeer instead, Huh?" and he stumbled off to go look for some, while Benny and Bruce and Jeff and Ron hightailed it out of there.  I mean, that was close.  I could imagine the worker's comp claim I'd have to deal with if that went down... And, originally, it wasn't Rudy's nose that was glowing but Satan Santa's himself.

You can keep NY City; we're not all that keen on city life, up at the Pole.  Anchorage is about the closest, and we can't see any reason to even head that far.  

Elroy; sorry if the poast is too long.  We have tiny feet, but at least our attention span is full size...  Criminy.

[scuzzy]

I am in complete agreement with the subject for this thread. The elves are revolting. They are also disgusting little creatures, with really stinky feet.

First off, they never close their mouths when they chew. They cough all over people, and they constantly scratch their rear axles. I just caught one the other day mining for brain cells. He was digging really deep, way up his nose.

On top of that, they never wash their sweat socks. Never. That's part of the reason their feet stink. I won't mention that they never wash their underwear, either. Unless, of course, they sit in a puddle. They don't brush or floss, and they never flush the toilet. You'd think they could improve their aim, too. Also.

There is one good thing about elves, though. They taste pretty good when they're cooked well-done.

Scuzzy; Elves are revolting little creatures. But Tobasco sauce helps.

[Mark H]

I agree with you Scuzzy. Those elves have been known to drive skunks off with their feet odors. In West Virginia, they can be seen mining for brain cells. They see the coal mining going on and think they can find brain cells just as easily. What morons!

Mark H

[Ace]

Dear Humans Whom Are Named After Your Cats, even though you say you aren't but we Know The Truth Don't We, huh.  Except Bubba, who's named after a brand of clothing, and Pat who's named after that character on that NBC comedy, and Chandler who's named after some site where you download things somewhat legally.  Or maybe that was Neon, who's named after the worst car I ever owned.  I might have a couple of those mixed up, but you can sort them out.  Maybe it was Ace who was named after his dog, and not Carol...

Ok; back to the story:
Fine.  G'wan.  Yuck it up.  Pick on the poor unfortunate of the world.  Make your crude jokes and misspell "Tabasco" at the same time.   Pick on the workers, on whom you so depend for your stupid holiday wares and notions and sundries.  Criticize our hygiene and taste.  

And, for cryin' out loud, we're not Edible.  Geez Louise, I said the Reindeer taste like Venison; nobody would eat a sweet little elf, you sick ##*$%%* (whatever that town in England is).  

What the h#$(ck is wrong with you people.  

I tell ya what stinks, and it's not just us.  I mean, we don't.  That much. Hold it... dangit; we don't at all.  What you said about washing.  No, hold it... that didn't sound right.  Sure, we wash!  Criminy, we wash all the time!  Heck, I'm washing right now!!  

Shoot, I got suds on the dang keyboard.. dangit.

You guys are the maroons.  First off, anybody going to West Virginia in search of brain cells missed the boat, in the first place.  Secondly, if the shoe fits, then you've got horribly tiny feet too, so I wouldn't talk.  Finally, why would you wear socks that encourage your feet to sweat?!  And sure, we brush AND floss.  Maybe not in the same order, or places you do, but let's not get all critical and spitical, ok?  

Fine.  Have it your way.  We're leaving.  We hoped we might find the milk of human kindness here, maybe with some Bosco or Nestle's Syrup to mix in, but apparently not.  You guys have all the compassion of Pandas, with the coordination of Plymouth Rock.  You wouldn't know a good blond monkey joke if it bit you.  We'll just carry on, slaving away in the toy mines,  whistling while we work, doing your dirty work.

Hold on.. it's dwarves that whistle when they work.  Well, sometimes we get confused too.

We're outta here.  We're heading back to the Pole.  That's right; me, Szymanski, Csiesolka, Yoskowitz, Zygrskwycz, we're heading back to Pole Land.  We'll carry on our strike, or go back to work, or whatever, no thanks to any of you.  

You'll regret this.. you'll wish we stayed.  There's somebody here who wants Ace's computer next, and let me tell ya, they make us look intelligent.  You'll rue the day you turned us away.  Heck, they even make Ace seem like just 2 sheets to the wind.  

It'll be bad.  Bad, I tell ya.  You'll remember Elves as the best dang visitors you ever had.  In comparison.  Really, they're that wretched.   You just wait.  

EnRon; buncha unappreciative, disrespectful miscreants.  Hope you try to do illegal downloads of Disco tunes, and get caught... The whole lot of ya.

[Mark H]

Dear Humans Whom Are Named After Your Cats,......

............Fine.  Have it your way.  We're leaving.

Let's see, my cat's names are Nikki and Freebie. Mark H just doesn't cut it for a cat name. I couldn't do that to my poor little fur balls. Wait, I could change my name to Freebie since Poasters help is free. ;D Now there's and idea I will keep in my back pocket.

Since you're leaving, I have noticed the air is smelling much sweeter. Even the skunks are coming back out. Just make sure someone other than Ace gets that computer!

Mark H; Could be named Freebie after my cat or maybe the wife can become Nikki after our other cat. Social security and the IRS would get confused, so we'll stay Mark H and the wife that I love.

[Ace]

We're not here.  We can't hear you.
Nyah Nyah Nyah.
We have our little fingers in our big ears, and can't hear you (see above).

We've gone.  Exited.  You'll be sorry.  All of you:
"Mark the Cat".  "Alex the Cat".  "Pat, the guy who won't buy anybody a drink".  "Chandler, and that weird place that has the name that sounds like it's obscene".  

Dude, and his continuing adventures with hot wild Amazons.  

Bubba is the only one here us Elves can relate to, since he hates winter and so do we.  Criminy, you should live at the North Pole to experience a real "Change of Seasons".

Not.

We're out.  Heading home.  Back to the toy mines and the slave labor camps of Satan Claus and his stinking (yet, edible) Reindeer.  Back to Herbie; I wish somebody would give him Novocaine this Christmas.  Yukon Cornelius.  The abominable, you've got right here.

They're coming.  They're almost here.  They will be poasting soon, to the horror and shock and awe of you all.   It'll be bad.  It won't be pretty.  

It's "They Who Shall Not Be Named".  The End Of Reason.  The Storm, at the end of the calm.  Abandon hope, all ye who entertain here.  If you think Ace sucked the life out of this place, you haven't seen anything yet.  They are Legion, and legend, in these halls.  If you had a wormhole leading to a black hole, you would still have more light and hope and promise than that which they provide.   When they arrive, Darkness Falls.  The End of Time.  

It's gonna be lights out, Jack.  The fat lady whistling a happy tune.

Buwahahahaaahaaaaaa.

The Elves; Have Left.  The Chatroom.*

seeyaseeya wouldn'twanna beya.  hahahahabuwaahaaaahackgrgnkchokecoffcriminyouchwhat the heck. dangit