I’m a Christmas Elf and There’s Nothing Festive About My Legs Dangling From This Car’s Trunk
You see my legs dangling from this car’s trunk, right? White and red striped leggings, pointy green shoes. You’re thinking, “Isn’t that cute? Whoever’s driving that car has a Christmas elf on board.” What you obviously haven’t considered is, “Why the frick are the elf’s legs hanging out of a closed trunk?” This isn’t some cute Christmas tradition, it’s a fricking hostage situation!
I’m sorry, I’ve never sworn before. Please forgive me, Santa. It’s hard to maintain my usual wondrous optimism and zest for life when I’ve got my legs pinned down by, and protruding from, a closed trunk. That kind of blunt trauma tends to sour even the most chipper of people.
I know elves are renowned for our magical work ethic and energy, but we’re not invincible. We’re lithe and lean, designed to endure countless hours of labor on our feet, but our bones are no different than yours. So, yeah, having a car’s trunk slammed shut on my legs broke those skinny mothers in half. It sounded just like that time Rudolph accidentally stepped on a box of candy canes. A cacophony of cracks, crunches, and sickening pops. If it weren’t for the stockings holding everything in place, my legs would have fallen right off.
When I came to, after passing out from the initial pain, I tried to look on the bright side: with my legs morbidly displayed in plain sight, someone was bound to notice and come to my aid. I mean, this driver might as well have a giant sign that says: “I have an injured elf held captive in my trunk!” I thought, “Surely some good samaritan will call the authorities or be concerned enough to make a citizen’s arrest.” I couldn’t have been more wrong.
In a disheartening and disgusting twist of fate, it seems people are actually amused by the site of my nearly severed legs flapping helplessly in the wind. It taunts me to hear people’s giddy reactions to my plight: “Oh my gosh, look at those adorable elf legs! Isn’t that cute, they’re sticking out from the trunk. How festive!” What’s wrong with you, can’t you see I need help?
Nothing says Christmas spirit and “Good tidings to all” like an elf’s legs sticking out from underneath a latched trunk. That’s not jolly or festive! That’s just frigged up. I’ve seen faux severed hands dangling from cars for Halloween and everyone can have a good larf at that harmless gag. But my captor is blatantly advertising that he’s a psychopath, driving around with my legs swaying from his elf-knapping mobile. There isn’t a piece of coal in the entire world big enough to put in this sadist’s stocking.
I initially thought I was being held for ransom. If only I could have been so lucky. No, it seems I’m enroute to some underground exotic meat market. A group of bored billionaires with adventurous tastes heard that elves are the mystical equivalent of veal. Apparently, our youthful innocence makes for rather tender meat. Well, the joke’s on them! Fear and suffering spoil the meat of any creature and after being put through this mash-up of 127 Hours and Misery, I’m going to taste pretty rancid. Also, I’ve purposefully soiled myself. Twice. Bon appetit, you rich snobs.
We all know what happens when a child says, “I don’t believe in fairies.” A far worse fate awaits elves every time someone ignores our limbs hanging loose from a trunk. I’d rather drop dead than be served up to a bunch of ultra-wealthy elf eaters.
I doubt even a Christmas miracle could save me at this point. Santa, I hope you find these naughty bastards and deck the halls with their stomach linings. These fat-cat tycoons can jingle all the way, to hell.
Please, don’t let my death be in vain. We elves work all-year to provide for your children. When we’re not toiling in Santa’s workshop or sitting stoically on your shelf, we’re at the mall trying to take a perfectly timed picture of children on St. Nick’s lap. Don’t let any of my brothers or sisters share my cruel fate. Promise me that if you ever see an elve’s legs trailing from a trunk, you won’t brush it off as some adorable adornment. Those thin legs belong to an elf, an elf who needs your help.
Jason Garramone is a writer and all-around comedian. He enjoys laughing and making others laugh as well.