JayHoffman
New Member
~SSBBW, ElfWG - the story of why Santa now has a special helper
((Much like the Simpsons before me, I'd like to make my debut in my own right with a Holiday Special. The story was initially inspired by a picture done some time ago by Kastamel on Deviantart and a general dislike of how elves have always been portrayed in Christmas movies. Enjoy the story, and I'm open to critique. Happy Holidays, everyone!))
Sometimes I think that this whole holiday just gets out of hand.
I mean, it's not that I don't like Christmas. I kind've have to, given my circumstances, but I stand firm in my opinion that this is one crazy time of year. Not just for you guys; buying presents, stuffing stockings and all that (which we'll get to in a sec, you selfish pricks) but especially for us.
We work all year. Plain and simple. 14 hours a day, seven days a week from the time we're two hundred years old 'til we hit the big nine-double ornament, we work ourselves short and pointy-eared for all the good little boys and girls around the world every day except for one godsent week when various Christmas holidays take place around the globe.
The Old Man, erm, Saint Nicholas. is hardly that when it comes to labor laws or fidelity. Seriously, I can't really complain since it's the only real source of work that our people can do but making toys for your brats (sorry, children) really wears us all down these days. Even I can remember when all a kid wanted for Christmas was Rock'em Sock'em Robots and an Evil Knievel stunt set. Do you have any idea how much work goes into making an iPhone? And for what? So you can just toss them around to your twelve-and-under children? I don't even have one and I'm four-frickin'-hundred years old!
...
"S---... sorry Mitch, won't happen again!"
"No I won't put a quarter in the swear jar, that's a bunch of-"
"Ugh, forget you too buddy! I'm going out for a smoke!"
*SLAM*
Anyway, long story short, it's a hard life up here and whatever perks we get really don't seem worth it. I mean honestly, I'm an elf. I understand that my options are rather limited. What's the point of nigh-immortality if all you do is sit around and make expensive electronics for ungrateful brats all year? With our required knowledge of computers, all the short jokes and how little we procreate, Santa might as well have a sweatshop full of Chinese kids up here.
Seriously, look over there. Past the snow mound and that candy cane pole in the ground. See that mansion? That's where he lives. Yeah, I don't know why Asshole lives in such grandeur either when we have to squat in barracks. Seriously, I kind've feel like I'm the only one who notices this shit sometimes. With all that "Christmas Magic" you'd think he could conjure us up some decent housing made from gingerbread instead of spending all his time up there .
Anyway, so he's either up there (with Tit-Chang or whatever), scheduling commercial appearances, checking his list, shaking himself like a bowl of jelly, or checking that freaking list again instead of being down here supervising. So when Buddy sews his hand to a pair of Nikes, he's up Cocoa Creek without a paddle until someone from the Med Center comes by, rips it off, and stitches him up. Yeah, it's actually been pretty brutal for Buddy since then...
So as you can see, being one of Santa's elves isn't exactly pretty, but it's not all bad, I suppose...
"Frank, go away. I don't care what Herr Cringle says, I'm on break."
"Merry, Bossman says your on Snack Disposal."
"Ugh, Holly Duty already? We haven't even taken down the lights yet..."
Perhaps I should elaborate. You see, about twenty years back is when Cringles had his last bypass. Considering all he did was eat cookies, drink Coca-Cola with polar bears, and explore the mysteries of the miscellaneous Orient, I'm surprised he hadn't had one sooner. Of course that was when he was at his biggest, too big for his magic Shrinking Dust (or whatever he uses to squeeze his fat ass down the chimneys, I'm not one of the Lab Elves, okay?) to take full effect.
So, after trying diets from Atkins to Craig, Santa pulled the biggest dick move in holiday history by going against it- he stopped stuffing his fat face at every house on those stupid cookies everyone leaves him.
Oh no, but of course Santa not accepting bribes that parents left him to overlook their children's naughty nosepicking was somehow his fault. Parents complained that now they had to eat them and that's why they suddenly had so much trouble not getting fat as Holy Hell. So of course, something had to be done.
Santa, apparently fully embracing his Yellow Fever by this point, panics. He doesn't want to blow back up to his sleigh-bending proportions like he was by this time the year before, but more than that, he doesn't want to get blamed for singlehandedly causing widespread obesity. So, while everyone was slimming down the year after, Santa was freaking out. And, here's where the dickery starts back up again, then a solution gets lit under his butt like so many fires before and waltzes straight onto the assembly line.
I remember it so clearly, since this was one of the very few times I'd ever seen Chris Cringle in the flesh before...
He said, "Ho ho ho, hello there my little elves!" (and of course there was lots of girlish squealing and excitement come from us little elves) "It seems Santa is in a bit of a pickle, and he needs one lucky elf to help him out of it!"
So he scanned the workshop left to right. No one sat still; it was crazy the way they all seemed jumped over each other trying to get his attention, but not me. N-Not that I was shy or anything, it was just that I didn't want to help him is all! So of course, I almost faint, erm, scream, when he points in my direction.
"You there!" he shouted as he waddled back to me, "How would you like to become a very special little elf?"
And before I could answer, a voice right behind me piped up. And you know what she said? "S-Sure thing Santa!" in that stupid little high-pitched voice she had, "I'm always ready to help you!"
So yeah, I was pretty pissed.
Here I thought for a split second that I was special, that I wasn't just another faceless gear in his holiday system, that I may have actually gone on to become more than just another elf who spent her entire life making toys and singing Christmas carols while she slowly worked herself to death on the assembly line, that I was going to be somebody! ...Only for someone else to be chosen for something that I felt I deserved.
Looking back, it explains a lot.
But more importantly, when I look back I'm glad that I wasn't the one chosen to get Santa out of aforementioned "pickle". Because, whether I realized it or not back then, Holly hadn't been quite so lucky when Santa chose her as everyone thought she was.
Y'see, what Santa wanted was someone to eat his milk and cookies for him. And, considering just how many children there are in the world and averaging out about three cookies per, that's a lot of fucking cookies. It was no wonder Santa was such a fatass, I'd be too if I had to eat all those cookies year after year. And more importantly, I'd be that fat if Santa had picked me that night.
The Holly that I had known since I was knee-high soon disappeared into the Clause Mansion for reasons unknown but at the time envied and didn't return to her place beside me, It wasn't until a week after Christmas that I saw her again, looking quite plump in her new uniform, already struggling for space inside. She told me the story of how Santa used his magic to help him devour every morsel that every child left for him with care, and then some bologna about touchy-feely crap and how he needed her to take his place this year and how she just couldn't refuse him!
She never quite lost the weight she gained or significant increase in appetite eating all those cookies had left her, and it most certainly took her all year to finish those damn things. The year after was the same, as was they year after that. Pretty soon Holly was triple the twig I had known since childhood, snacking on the job and giving yearning glances to everything that came out of the Gingerbread Factory conveniently across the street.
Santa, being a ginormous dickface worried about his girlish figure, took it upon his dickish self to take it one step further and designate her "the Snack Disposal Elf" and let her do just that- dispose of snacks year round and completely taking her off the Toy Line altogether.
So now every week a few of us get stuck with "Snack Disposal Duty" or as I like to call it "Holly Duty" in where we go and get rid of all these cookies by, what else, giving them to Holly all year round.
...
*creeeeeeak*
"Ho Ho Holly, looks like I'm stuck with you today."
"Oh, hey Merry, how was your Christmas?"
"Usual crumminess, iTunes gift card and leggings. Yours?"
"Boring. All I got was clothes."
You'd think she'd have the right to be a beggar and a chooser with the way she said it, but the truth was that Holly didn't quite have much room to complain when it came to her wardrobe what with how.... well, how fucking fat she is.
"At least you don't have to wear that stupid uniform all the time."
"Like this one's any better.
There she goes again. Truth be told, I like her uniform. It'd look a lot better on me, but I like it. It's just the way she sort of... pours out of it at every chance she gets. This is actually the first time in a long time I've seen Holly in anything that fits her. Her belly droops down and touches the floor, but at least it's wrapped in a soft red uniform to keep it warm. The way it billows out, spreading wider than any elf's arms can possibly reach, it can't be an easy task to keep her dressed. But it's really a little cruel to put a belt on it, it actually looks tight on her the way it makes her rolls bulge out over the top of it... I can't even see the white fur trim underneath her stomach...
But it's clearly there over her hips. It traverses the enormous snowy white mounds of her expansive arctic self to wrap around her. I feel for the poor thing, that's no easy feat with Holly. All that time sitting down and munching away on the Chris Cringle diet has really made her get pretty big around the britches. With legs like that, it's no wonder she's spilling even out of those new matching slippers with her fat little feet. (God, seriously, what the hell Cringle? Why make such an effort to make sure everyone knows you keep her clothed?)
Her armfat rolling heavily over the sides of her new ensemble, I'm pretty sure that the dress has straps too, which is a little concerning since I see no straps. No doubt eaten by her bulging upper body blubber. Seriously, she's got more chins than one of Santa's many rice-patties has nephews named Chin.
And yet she does her job so willingly. Probably no choice in the matter now that she's a cookie-holic. Santa's such a dick. But I'm more than happy to oblige...
"Well I think I've got a present you'll like a little more..."
She smiles knowingly and reclines her neck to rest on what I can only assume is both a cushion and maybe some small rolls of back fat bunched up as she lay at rest. She closes her eyes and allows me to gingerly place a single cookie on her fat little tongue before munching away like so much the glutton Asshole Clause has let her become.
The way she smiles as she swallows, resting her gloved little hands on her engorged upper half, it's almost kind've cute...
"Ahh... I love the holidays"
So yeah, that's how it is up here. Full of long, thankless nights spent toiling over toys that grow increasingly complicated with every passing year while Santa sits back in cold snowy comfort, snuggled up while he gets some strange.
My point is, we all work really hard. So don't forget that this time of year means a lot, both to you and to us. We spend a lot of time making those presents you so greedily unwrap and then forget about the year after. Just take it easy on us, we've got it hard up here. Some harder than most...
"Buuuuuuuuuraaaapppppp!!"
Oh, and make sure to keep the cookies coming. We've got an elf to feed up here...
((Much like the Simpsons before me, I'd like to make my debut in my own right with a Holiday Special. The story was initially inspired by a picture done some time ago by Kastamel on Deviantart and a general dislike of how elves have always been portrayed in Christmas movies. Enjoy the story, and I'm open to critique. Happy Holidays, everyone!))
Snack Disposal
(or, alternatively)
Happy HollyDays
(or, alternatively)
Happy HollyDays
Sometimes I think that this whole holiday just gets out of hand.
I mean, it's not that I don't like Christmas. I kind've have to, given my circumstances, but I stand firm in my opinion that this is one crazy time of year. Not just for you guys; buying presents, stuffing stockings and all that (which we'll get to in a sec, you selfish pricks) but especially for us.
We work all year. Plain and simple. 14 hours a day, seven days a week from the time we're two hundred years old 'til we hit the big nine-double ornament, we work ourselves short and pointy-eared for all the good little boys and girls around the world every day except for one godsent week when various Christmas holidays take place around the globe.
The Old Man, erm, Saint Nicholas. is hardly that when it comes to labor laws or fidelity. Seriously, I can't really complain since it's the only real source of work that our people can do but making toys for your brats (sorry, children) really wears us all down these days. Even I can remember when all a kid wanted for Christmas was Rock'em Sock'em Robots and an Evil Knievel stunt set. Do you have any idea how much work goes into making an iPhone? And for what? So you can just toss them around to your twelve-and-under children? I don't even have one and I'm four-frickin'-hundred years old!
...
"S---... sorry Mitch, won't happen again!"
"No I won't put a quarter in the swear jar, that's a bunch of-"
"Ugh, forget you too buddy! I'm going out for a smoke!"
*SLAM*
Anyway, long story short, it's a hard life up here and whatever perks we get really don't seem worth it. I mean honestly, I'm an elf. I understand that my options are rather limited. What's the point of nigh-immortality if all you do is sit around and make expensive electronics for ungrateful brats all year? With our required knowledge of computers, all the short jokes and how little we procreate, Santa might as well have a sweatshop full of Chinese kids up here.
Seriously, look over there. Past the snow mound and that candy cane pole in the ground. See that mansion? That's where he lives. Yeah, I don't know why Asshole lives in such grandeur either when we have to squat in barracks. Seriously, I kind've feel like I'm the only one who notices this shit sometimes. With all that "Christmas Magic" you'd think he could conjure us up some decent housing made from gingerbread instead of spending all his time up there .
Anyway, so he's either up there (with Tit-Chang or whatever), scheduling commercial appearances, checking his list, shaking himself like a bowl of jelly, or checking that freaking list again instead of being down here supervising. So when Buddy sews his hand to a pair of Nikes, he's up Cocoa Creek without a paddle until someone from the Med Center comes by, rips it off, and stitches him up. Yeah, it's actually been pretty brutal for Buddy since then...
So as you can see, being one of Santa's elves isn't exactly pretty, but it's not all bad, I suppose...
"Frank, go away. I don't care what Herr Cringle says, I'm on break."
"Merry, Bossman says your on Snack Disposal."
"Ugh, Holly Duty already? We haven't even taken down the lights yet..."
Perhaps I should elaborate. You see, about twenty years back is when Cringles had his last bypass. Considering all he did was eat cookies, drink Coca-Cola with polar bears, and explore the mysteries of the miscellaneous Orient, I'm surprised he hadn't had one sooner. Of course that was when he was at his biggest, too big for his magic Shrinking Dust (or whatever he uses to squeeze his fat ass down the chimneys, I'm not one of the Lab Elves, okay?) to take full effect.
So, after trying diets from Atkins to Craig, Santa pulled the biggest dick move in holiday history by going against it- he stopped stuffing his fat face at every house on those stupid cookies everyone leaves him.
Oh no, but of course Santa not accepting bribes that parents left him to overlook their children's naughty nosepicking was somehow his fault. Parents complained that now they had to eat them and that's why they suddenly had so much trouble not getting fat as Holy Hell. So of course, something had to be done.
Santa, apparently fully embracing his Yellow Fever by this point, panics. He doesn't want to blow back up to his sleigh-bending proportions like he was by this time the year before, but more than that, he doesn't want to get blamed for singlehandedly causing widespread obesity. So, while everyone was slimming down the year after, Santa was freaking out. And, here's where the dickery starts back up again, then a solution gets lit under his butt like so many fires before and waltzes straight onto the assembly line.
I remember it so clearly, since this was one of the very few times I'd ever seen Chris Cringle in the flesh before...
He said, "Ho ho ho, hello there my little elves!" (and of course there was lots of girlish squealing and excitement come from us little elves) "It seems Santa is in a bit of a pickle, and he needs one lucky elf to help him out of it!"
So he scanned the workshop left to right. No one sat still; it was crazy the way they all seemed jumped over each other trying to get his attention, but not me. N-Not that I was shy or anything, it was just that I didn't want to help him is all! So of course, I almost faint, erm, scream, when he points in my direction.
"You there!" he shouted as he waddled back to me, "How would you like to become a very special little elf?"
And before I could answer, a voice right behind me piped up. And you know what she said? "S-Sure thing Santa!" in that stupid little high-pitched voice she had, "I'm always ready to help you!"
So yeah, I was pretty pissed.
Here I thought for a split second that I was special, that I wasn't just another faceless gear in his holiday system, that I may have actually gone on to become more than just another elf who spent her entire life making toys and singing Christmas carols while she slowly worked herself to death on the assembly line, that I was going to be somebody! ...Only for someone else to be chosen for something that I felt I deserved.
Looking back, it explains a lot.
But more importantly, when I look back I'm glad that I wasn't the one chosen to get Santa out of aforementioned "pickle". Because, whether I realized it or not back then, Holly hadn't been quite so lucky when Santa chose her as everyone thought she was.
Y'see, what Santa wanted was someone to eat his milk and cookies for him. And, considering just how many children there are in the world and averaging out about three cookies per, that's a lot of fucking cookies. It was no wonder Santa was such a fatass, I'd be too if I had to eat all those cookies year after year. And more importantly, I'd be that fat if Santa had picked me that night.
The Holly that I had known since I was knee-high soon disappeared into the Clause Mansion for reasons unknown but at the time envied and didn't return to her place beside me, It wasn't until a week after Christmas that I saw her again, looking quite plump in her new uniform, already struggling for space inside. She told me the story of how Santa used his magic to help him devour every morsel that every child left for him with care, and then some bologna about touchy-feely crap and how he needed her to take his place this year and how she just couldn't refuse him!
She never quite lost the weight she gained or significant increase in appetite eating all those cookies had left her, and it most certainly took her all year to finish those damn things. The year after was the same, as was they year after that. Pretty soon Holly was triple the twig I had known since childhood, snacking on the job and giving yearning glances to everything that came out of the Gingerbread Factory conveniently across the street.
Santa, being a ginormous dickface worried about his girlish figure, took it upon his dickish self to take it one step further and designate her "the Snack Disposal Elf" and let her do just that- dispose of snacks year round and completely taking her off the Toy Line altogether.
So now every week a few of us get stuck with "Snack Disposal Duty" or as I like to call it "Holly Duty" in where we go and get rid of all these cookies by, what else, giving them to Holly all year round.
...
*creeeeeeak*
"Ho Ho Holly, looks like I'm stuck with you today."
"Oh, hey Merry, how was your Christmas?"
"Usual crumminess, iTunes gift card and leggings. Yours?"
"Boring. All I got was clothes."
You'd think she'd have the right to be a beggar and a chooser with the way she said it, but the truth was that Holly didn't quite have much room to complain when it came to her wardrobe what with how.... well, how fucking fat she is.
"At least you don't have to wear that stupid uniform all the time."
"Like this one's any better.
There she goes again. Truth be told, I like her uniform. It'd look a lot better on me, but I like it. It's just the way she sort of... pours out of it at every chance she gets. This is actually the first time in a long time I've seen Holly in anything that fits her. Her belly droops down and touches the floor, but at least it's wrapped in a soft red uniform to keep it warm. The way it billows out, spreading wider than any elf's arms can possibly reach, it can't be an easy task to keep her dressed. But it's really a little cruel to put a belt on it, it actually looks tight on her the way it makes her rolls bulge out over the top of it... I can't even see the white fur trim underneath her stomach...
But it's clearly there over her hips. It traverses the enormous snowy white mounds of her expansive arctic self to wrap around her. I feel for the poor thing, that's no easy feat with Holly. All that time sitting down and munching away on the Chris Cringle diet has really made her get pretty big around the britches. With legs like that, it's no wonder she's spilling even out of those new matching slippers with her fat little feet. (God, seriously, what the hell Cringle? Why make such an effort to make sure everyone knows you keep her clothed?)
Her armfat rolling heavily over the sides of her new ensemble, I'm pretty sure that the dress has straps too, which is a little concerning since I see no straps. No doubt eaten by her bulging upper body blubber. Seriously, she's got more chins than one of Santa's many rice-patties has nephews named Chin.
And yet she does her job so willingly. Probably no choice in the matter now that she's a cookie-holic. Santa's such a dick. But I'm more than happy to oblige...
"Well I think I've got a present you'll like a little more..."
She smiles knowingly and reclines her neck to rest on what I can only assume is both a cushion and maybe some small rolls of back fat bunched up as she lay at rest. She closes her eyes and allows me to gingerly place a single cookie on her fat little tongue before munching away like so much the glutton Asshole Clause has let her become.
The way she smiles as she swallows, resting her gloved little hands on her engorged upper half, it's almost kind've cute...
"Ahh... I love the holidays"
So yeah, that's how it is up here. Full of long, thankless nights spent toiling over toys that grow increasingly complicated with every passing year while Santa sits back in cold snowy comfort, snuggled up while he gets some strange.
My point is, we all work really hard. So don't forget that this time of year means a lot, both to you and to us. We spend a lot of time making those presents you so greedily unwrap and then forget about the year after. Just take it easy on us, we've got it hard up here. Some harder than most...
"Buuuuuuuuuraaaapppppp!!"
Oh, and make sure to keep the cookies coming. We've got an elf to feed up here...
