Rudolph’s Revenge

After years of teasing and name-calling, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer has finally had it. Write a strongly-worded letter to all the other reindeer from Rudolph, allowing him to air his grievances and announce that he is quitting to join (fill in the blank).

Post your response (500 words or fewer) in the comments below.

writing-prompts

Download from our shop right now!

You might also like:

50 thoughts on “Rudolph’s Revenge

  1. shahjehankhan2009@gmail.com

    Deer Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and Vixen; Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen,

    I don’t like Reindeer games! Especially soccer. I hate it, just because the ball hits my nose and burns out my light! I have too recharged it every time in between time out of the game. I have tried to use Energizer batteries, but it doesn’t work, it works for the Bunny, but not for me! Duracel works the best. The Bunny is annoying!

    The referee, Santa does not give me enough time. I don’t care if he is jolly. He needs to lose weight. Speaking of weight, Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and Vixen; Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen. Would you please do me a favor. Lose the weight, I cannot pull you all. You all eat too much! Lose the weight. Can you?

    Of course, I have a shining red nose and I could guide a sleigh at night, especially through the foggy snowy night. For one time, can we deliver the Christmas Gifts during the day time? Flying at night is dangerous. One night we hit vampire bats on the way home – I think I am turning into a vampire reindeer. Now I have a craving to watch the Walking Dead on AMC. Be afraid of me.

    Oh, crap. I am turning into a Zombie Reindeer. I need brains!

    Love,
    Rudolph

  2. Sundance 244

    Deer Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and Vixen; Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen,

    Just got word from the Jolly man I’m heading up the team this year. Thought 4 alarm bean chili would make a great, pre-run meal. Wattaya’ think?

    Reindeer game over, hoof mates. Eat my tracks.

    Your pal,
    Rudy RR

  3. Amslovesgod

    Dear töykeä poro(for those who don’t speak are native language I mean you dasher that means rude reindeer in finish)

    For years I have been the bigger man not making comments about any of your problems but I can no longer take it. You are so wrong , first there’s dasher who refuses to talk to anyone in anything but English, that’s rude especially when it’s a bird in say china that’s giving you directions when your lost. Blitzen you are always letting lose on the ones behind you it causes them to pass out. prancer ok I like dancing as much as others but dancing on rooftops is dangerous and stupid. Vixen well you fit your name and that’s all I’m going to say. Dancer you are so corpulent we struggle to get off the ground every time.the cookies are for santa not you . Cupid your a love sick idiot and I don’t know why you keep wearing that stupid diaper on valentines it over done. Donner you need to eat less carrots and stop tanning reindeer are not supposed to be orange. Comment you need stop sniffing glue a high reindeer is scary plus you’ve killed two elves who santa had on you. The only reason your still around is because santa raised your dad as his first reindeer. I am done with you guys I have told santa I’m leaving to work on a Christmas cruise line where I will be on there stage purductions of my life’s battles . Good bye and Good luck in those blizzards with out me hope you get stuck somewhere and santa has to eat you.

    Hatefully
    Rudolf

  4. kitten_girl5

    Dear Other Deer,
    I don’t like you very much. In fact, I don’t like you at all. You aren’t very nice to me and you need to grow up. Your insults are childish and immature. I think that my newborn sister could have come up with more creative insults than you guys. I’m getting sick and tired of you and your stupid bandwagon effect.
    You know, before you all started calling me red-nose and whatnot, I had a chance to have a friend, or in my most lucky case, a girlfriend. That’s right. Vixen likes me. Just because you failed to see it doesn’t mean that we weren’t happy. And you know what? I’m gonna burst your bubble right now:
    She doesn’t like any of you. And she told me the other day that she HATES you Dasher for being the beginning of the end of my childhood and ruining my life. Yeah, that’s right. That macho act only screwed you over because she wants a more sensitive male specimen who knows how to make her happy (if you know what I mean).
    She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life with an insensitive deer with little horns. At least I could hold my own against the yeti. You couldn’t hold your own against my little sister
    Anyway, I’m not going to take your insults anymore, and I won’t take the chance of my child dealing with your cr@p either. That’s right, Vixen and I have a kid. And you know what else? We’re BOTH leaving. We’re moving to Bermuda where people and other stupid reindeer can’t bother us and our little red-nosed child can have a bright childhood and an even brighter future without vain little brats in my way.
    Your not-so-friendly neighborhood red-nosed reindeer,
    Rudolf

  5. Clark_Logan

    Right that’s it. I have had it up to my antlers! You leave me no choice, but it’s time for me to make it publicly known across the herd about my grievances. The mocking has now reached galactic levels and it has forced me, compelled me, coerced me into writing this letter of complaint before my crimson nose explodes. It’s not my fault the humans wrote a song about my nose. It’s not my fault I was born this way. I can’t chose the colour of my nose. Why can’t we all tolerate each other’s differences?
    So my my question is; where is the appreciation around here for all my hard word?
    Who’s the poor soul who has to haul round that fat bearded know it all along with his cheap Chinese made garbage to 2 billion children? ME
    Who’s the one who has to put up with that piece of crap GPS Nick refuses to replace on the basis of “cut backs” due to the economic downturn? ME.
    It’s not my fault inflationary pressures are forcing us to scale back in the warehouse.
    Who’s the one who has to listen, day and night, as those bloody elves keep complaining about “oh such poor working conditions” and the “slave labour” they endure. ME.
    Let me tell you, It’s thanks to me those guys haven’t unionised yet, because if they did… let me tell you folkss, Santa would be in big trouble. BIG TROUBLE.
    You think Santa could possibly afford the wages of those elves if they all went on strike? NO WAY!
    I’m the one who has to endure Mrs Clauses’ constant grumblings that Big Ol’ Santa spends too much time in the warehouse with the elves, and not enough time with her in the cabin. It’s not my fault the labour demands in Lapland are so low. Perhaps she needs to retrain in the high tech economy, like everyone else has to.
    I’m the one who has to endure all this, and run this show, guide the sleigh, and make sure we don’t miss any kids out (made worse by the fact people are moving into apartment blocks these days). You try guiding a 300 pound man in a red suit down a bin shaft, let me tell you!
    If there’s any more of this bullying, I have no choice to take this all the way to an employment tribunal. I know my rights.
    CONSIDER THIS A FINAL WARNING BEFORE I CALL MY ATTORNEY.
    Yours
    Rudey Rudolph.
    Founder of the Red Noses Matter movement, Lap Land office.

  6. KatD422

    My Fellow Reindeer,
    I’ll never forget the first day of reindeer training. My father made me wear that stupid black plastic cover over my nose and assured me it would be fine. I enjoyed meeting my newfound friends. Then I met Clarice who said I was cute. I was so over the moon happy I flew! Better than any of you managed that first day! But that moment of happiness and triumph led me to a lifelong well of grief. My nose cover fell off.

    You shunned me. You made fun of me. Even when I was promoted to lead reindeer the teasing didn’t stop. “Clown”, “Electric Head”, “Bulbnose” “Shiny”, “Glow” – the list of names goes on and on. And I always did what my Mama told me to. I kept the pain hidden and laughed along with you. I treated you with respect and kindness no matter what.

    Recently one of the young ones called me “Light Show” and suddenly I knew – I’ve HAD it! No more Mr. Nice Guy! So I’m going to get some things off my chest.

    Dancer and Vixen – You’re both dumber than a box of rocks! Neither of you can tell up from down or left from right. You are constantly heading the wrong way and making the rest of us work that much harder.

    Prancer – You have the most obnoxious habit of sneezing and spraying those nearby. It’s truly disgusting! And you are NOT as pretty as you think you are!

    Donner – You are a mean old bully. I pity the young ones. You were tough but fair when you were younger – now you’re just a crotchety old stag who needs to hang up his antlers and let someone else take over training.

    And as for my very own uncles and my Dad:

    Dasher – You try to tell jokes and never get them right. You tell endless boring stories, the same ones over and over and over. It’s enough to make me want to go jump in the lake sometimes, just to stop the sound of your voice!

    Comet and Cupid – You both partake of too much Reindeer Rum, which gives you terrible gas – enough to make a deer’s eyes water! And do I really need to remind you what happened at the After Christmas Party last year? The fact that Santa avoids you should tell you something! I heard him asking Mrs. Claus if he should even put on the party this year!

    Dad. You didn’t call me names – but you didn’t stop the rest of them either. And that nose cover…

    None of you is perfect! Now that I’ve spoken my mind – I QUIT! I’m off to join a sled team in the Alps that is tracking more Bumbles – they APPRECIATE my nose. They are excited to have a reliable light source at the head of the team.

    Now let’s see how well you manage the next time it’s foggy on Christmas Eve! Clarice and I are gone!

    Goodbye!
    Rudolph

  7. Mystie92

    Dear Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen…whatever,
    It’s over. I am done playing the poster-reindeer. I can do more than shine my nose so bright and pose for pictures with all of the aspiring little calves who are so excited to meet the red nosed wonder that saved Christmas that foggy night. You all know as well as I do it was Cupid that decided it would be hilarious to come up with a song about how my big red nose saved the day and now people won’t shut up about it. Santa even decided to take advantage of it and use me as an example for aspiring sleigh drivers. We all know I’ve never even left the North Pole! Every time I hear that damn song it’s like a kick in the ‘nads and that hurts guys. And I don’t even understand how it’s so popular. I mean, come one! It’s winter time in half the world- the weather will always be blind-out conditions somewhere. There’s also these cool inventions called headlights. Santa uses them. Move along world!

    Anyways, I digress. I never even wanted to be a sleigh driver on Santa’s sleigh. Even as a little calf, I dreamed of being a big game hunter in Africa. Just the thought of shooting down an elephant or chasing down an antelope through the savanna gives me chills of excitement. And I know it’s a little strange, me being a hunter and all. “My big red shiny nose would give me away” you tease “I could never blend in” you say. Well there’s another little invention called black grease and camouflage that I’ve tried, and you know what, no more shiny red nose, you snarky a**holes! So I’m leaving tomorrow to finally go to Africa. I’ve joined a hunting party. They won’t tell me their names or affiliation, but they promise some good game so I’m going to go live out my dream. Good luck with Christmas this year- but you never needed me anyway so, never mind. I will not be missing any of you.

    Your (former) poster-reindeer,
    Rudolph

  8. cosi van tutte

    Well. This ran a little longer than I was expecting….

    *****

    “Hey, everyone! Rude Dolt is in looooooove with Blitzen.”

    “Comet! Don’t be stupid. I could never love a flashy nosed loser like him. He is so not my type.”

    “Yeah, Comet. Don’t be so dumb. Ruddy Rudy couldn’t get a girlfriend even if he tried. Besides, everyone knows that Blitzen is all mine. Right, hon?”

    “Oh, Donner! You’re such a charmer.”

    “Well, yes. Yes, I am.”

    Donner and Blitzen rubbed noses.

    Which rubbed a whole salt cube of hurt into Rudolph’s open broken heart. He stomped his hoof. “Hey! We’re in the middle of a staff meeting here. We need to discuss the new trade routes and—”

    Blitzen giggled. “Oh, Donner. I can hear the Canadian geese honking.”

    “That’s strange. I thought that was a turkey vulture vomiting.”

    “Blitzen! Donner! Pay attention. This is serious business.”

    Comet reared up on his back legs. “Ooo. This is seeeeerious biiiiizness. You little rapscallions had better listen to wise old Rude Dolt.”

    Rudolph stomped his hooves even harder. “I really don’t want to ‘accidently’ gouge your stomach. Again.”

    Comet dropped back to all fours. “You threatening me, lightbulb?

    Rudolph snorted. “It’s Rudolph. And I am in charge until Santa comes back from Cookie Detox.”

    “Oh, really? So, what? You gonna wear the big man’s suit and go skiddling down the chimneys?”

    “I haven’t worked that detail out yet, but—”

    “But nothing, blinky boy. I’m the oldest reindeer here. I have seniority.”

    Cupid cleared his throat. “Actually, I’m older than you by seventeen months.”

    Comet flattened his ears and snorted.

    Cupid backed up and broke eye contact with him. “Not that it matters.”

    “Sure as heck it don’t matter. I’m the oldest. I should have been the one Santa picked.”

    “Well, guess what, Comet? He didn’t. He picked me because I am the most reliable.”

    “Hey!” Dancer tottered forward. “I only got drunk that one time.”

    Rudolph looked incredulous. “Really. Just that one time.”

    “Yeap! I just…Is the room spinning or is it just me?”

    Rudolph sighed. “Go home, Dancer. You’re drunk.”

    “Aaaall righty then.” Dancer tottered off to points unknown.

    Prancer raced after him. “Daaaaaancer! Waaaaait fooooorr meeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

    Rudolph wished he had hands so he could rub his forehead. “Look. Are we having this meeting or not?”

    All of the remaining reindeer chorused, “NOT!”

    And they all trotted out of the conference stable.

    ***

    Rudolph paced the full length of the conference stable, talking and muttering to himself.

    Vixen trotted in, her stubby reindeer tail flicking happily. “Oh, Rudolph! You still here?”

    “Yes. I’m still here.”

    “Oh. I thought you got fired.”

    “Fired by who?”

    “Donner and Comet and Blitzen and all them other guys.” She noticed the stony expression. “Oh. They didn’t tell you, huh? Sorry!” And she left.

    “So. They think they can fire me without actually firing me to my face?! Well, ha! on them.” He marched to his stall and packed up his bale of hay and other assorted worldly possessions. “I’ll show them.”

    He sturm and dranged all the way to the reindeer rec room and kicked the door open, interrupting their massive shuffleboard game. “I want you all to know that I am leaving. You want me gone? Fine! I am so gone. Have fun delivering Santa’s presents this year without me, you sad sack of flea-eaten shabby-coated lusterless dead-eyed group of moose wannabes!”

    Comet stepped forward. “Who you calling a moose?”

    “Not a moose. You couldn’t be a moose even if you tried. You’re pathetic and crummy and lousy and old and decrepit and sleazy and stinky and slimy and deep fried and ugly! Yes, ugly as a dead mouse in a candy toaster.”

    The other reindeer stared at his barrage of insults in absolute wonder.

    “It’s a thing of beauty.” Dancer hiccupped. “Yessiree. Big lovelied beauty.”

    “You’re all horrible. Every one of you.”

    “Except me!” chirped Vixen.

    “No. Even you. There are no exceptions.”

    Vixen’s eyes grew large and watery. “You think I’m horrible?”

    “No exceptions.”

    Vixen ran out of the room, wailing.

    “I could list all of the things I don’t like about all of you, but that would push me over 1,000 words and I just don’t have the time for that. Good-bye forever, you rotted group of mange and filth and stagnant drool.”

    He turned to leave.

    “Ho Ho Ho! Merrry Christmas one and all!” Santa twinkled, absolutely twinkled, at Rudolph. “I hope you’re ready for our practice runs.”

    “No, Santa. I’m not ready for anything. I’m leaving this herd of—”

    “Now, now, Rudolph. Don’t be that way. Why, what would I ever do without you and your shiny nose that reminds me of cherry cordial gumdrop cookies? Uhh, I mean, what would the team ever do without you?”

    “I’m sure they’ll manage.”

    “What if I offer you a deal? Hmm? An increase in your carrot allowance, perhaps?”

    His mouth dropped open. “You haven’t increased my carrot allowance in—”

    “Oh, I know. It’s been a long, long time. And I will grant you a sugar cube and apple allowance.”

    Sugar cubes….and apples…..”Uhhh, I should turn this down on principle, but I think I can manage on more run. As for next year?” He flicked his tail. “Talk to me next year and I’ll let you know.”

  9. Kerry Charlton

    RUDOLPH’S REVENGE

    As Rudolph walked the stables one night in November, he realized he would have to do something about Santa’s other reindeer. Since 1949, he had been there, coerced by Gene Autry to shove one of Santa’s historic reindeer off the cliff in order to lead them, so Autry could make millions off of him.. And he was tired of it all, sixty seven years of flying the skies at Christmas was more than enough.

    And what did he have to show for it? No royalties from the song, just a stable life with seven other angry reindeer. By chance, Cupid the most loved of all the reindeer, was the victim of Rudolph as she fell to her death. He didn’t realize the drama involved. They called him a murderer, a weirdo because of his nose and now the Alzheimer’s bit, just because he lost his way over Siberia last year. It all looked alike to Rudolph because of the blizzard and his eyesight dimmed by age.

    And now that GPS had been added to the sled, what value was a nose light to show the way? As Rudolph was the youngest of all, the others had more difficulty flying the skies. After all, the original three, Dasher, Dancer and Prancer were closing in on two hundred years and pulled a much lighter sled a hundred and some odd years ago.

    Rudolph wondered what Santa, a timeless legend thought about his aging crew. So he asked and what he heard sickened him to the heart. Santa had a sophisticated scam going with Macy’s, Neiman’s, J. C. Penny and Sax Fifth Avenue, taking kick backs in hundreds of millions of dollars the last seventy years.

    ‘I can fix it,‘ thought Rudolph as he prepared for his last flight. A total end to the nonsense of a flying herd of reindeer skippered by an obese old geezer. Christmas eve came, a new sleigh, six miles in length by three wide, controlled by an antigravity device and pushed through the air by minute atomic energy capsules was ready for it’s maiden voyage. Eight old reindeer including Rudolph, were hitched to the front for show only. An anti gravity platform rose slowly under the reindeer‘s hooves for support.

    Santa was his usual jolly four hundred year old ball of fat with whiskers. As Santa started the sleigh. Rudolph, glad to be on a one way trip, kept to himself, ignoring the tired and mean harassment he was forced to hear. ’Never again after tonight’, he thought.
    The sleigh rose higher and higher through the icy cold air until at thirty thousand feet. Santa pushed the craft to fly parallel to earth.

    Rudolph knew his time had arrived and with all his might, he pulled the sleight from the heavens into a nose dive at nine hundred miles an hour. Down, down, even Santa screamed as they rushed to earth at death defying speed. Rudolph strained harder and reached Mach 2 in speed. Fifteen seconds later, the sleigh exploded over the Rockies and blew into thousands of pieces, coating mountain sides in all directions.

    Was it the end of Christmas? Not quite. In the US, the department of the interior, doled out coupons each year for presents to be issued by Wal-Mart, which by this time counted for eighty percent of all purchases in the world. No Christmas carols were allowed, no religious symbols, no songs were allowed. Any sign of Christ was eliminated from the holiday. Red and green colors were eliminated from any display, with a stiff penalty issued to those who dared to resist.

    And that my dear friends is exactly where Christmas is headed. Are you strong enough and does your heart have the will to change the course of history?
    .

    1. DMelde

      Hi Kerry,
      I particularly liked the new sleigh with its anti-grav (as you probably knew I would). Six miles long by three wide … good luck finding a parking place. I’ve got a foot of snow on the ground with 3 inches of fat, heavy snow forecast for tomorrow and I’ve barely got the strength left in me to go shovel, much less change the course of history. Ha! Good story!
      Merry Christmas,
      ~Dave

  10. ReathaThomasOakley

    A Girl Story
    1955
    (5 years before the time of the first episode of this saga posted February 2, 2015, my first time here. There were 359 comments that week.)

    “Granny, you awake?” I was gettin’ right tired bundling and hearin’ Granny snore.

    “Am now,” she twitched in her rockin’ chair on the porch and picked up her RC Cola bottle. I quit lookin’. I don’t like seein’ her spit in it.

    “You reckon this here’s what Rudolph’s tongue looks like?” I held up the leaf what I’d picked green in the summer. Now it was all silvery brown and crinkled and smelled like vanilla.

    “Don’t know no foolishness ’bout no Ruldoph, but I ‘spect they call it deertongue for some reason or tother.” She pulled her rag outta her sleeve and wiped her mouth. “You ’bout got them bundles tied?”

    “Yes, mam. I got fifty for Miz Tuggle, fourteen for us.” Miz Tuggle owned the motel down on the highway, put deertongue in the rooms to smell good for the northern tourists. She said some folks picked lots and lots, sold it in Brunswick to put in cigars. Boys at school bragged ’bout smokin’ it.

    “Granny, how much money Miz Tuggle gonna give me, all told?”

    “Well, iffen they’s tied good and strong, you gonna get two dollars and fifty cents.” She spit off the porch, but not too close to where I was workin’. “What you gonna do with all that money?”

    “Granny, I ain’t tellin’ you. What with Christmas in two weeks.”

    “Yeah, Christmas. You wrote yore letter to Santy yet?” She was jest funnin’ me, I know all ’bout Santa Claus.

    “Yes, mam. I asked him for a record player and six records, plus that one ’bout Rudolph.” I stopped tying. “Granny, why you ‘spose them other reindeer was so mean to him, he didn’t do nothin’ to them.”

    “Girl, you done already know some folks is right mean to other folks what is difrent.”

    “Yes, mam. I know, when I think on that I get all sad and stomach sick.” I closed my eyes and jest listened to Granny rockin’. “I don’t like bein’ stomach sick. You reckon Rudolph got stomach sick?”

    “Girl, you listen to me. Think on that foolish song. What happened.” Granny got outta her chair. “That little deer didn’t go off and sulk, didn’t quit, he saved the day. Lotta folks what are difrent wind up heroes.” She opened the screen door. “Finish up there and bring in a load a firewood. First frost tonight. We gonna light the stove and when yore mama gets home we gonna have us some hot chocolate, maybe sing some carols–”

    “And, Granny, please can we sing ’bout Rudolph, huh, huh?” Granny jest laughed and went on inside.

    1. jhowe

      Very cool Reatha. I liked this a lot. I’d have a hard time sleeping with chewing tobacco in my mouth, but that Granny could pull it off. Lots of practice I suppose. I once saw a guy drink from a Mountan Dew can that someone else was using as a spittoon. It didn’t go over very well.

      Yeah, I remember when we used to get a lot more comments. I wonder what happened?

      1. ReathaThomasOakley

        Thanks, j. That whole chew thing is based on enduring images from my childhood. And, while I miss some who are no longer posting, I am always pleased when I see new names here. These almost two years have been great for me because I’ve gotten so much written, 500 or so words at a time.

      1. Kerry Charlton

        Hi Reatha, yeah! Another girl story. Feel like I know them by heart now. You did a nice job on this one. Brought me back to the circle. On another subject. I remember weeks when replies hit over 400
        Strictly puzzles me. Glad to read new faces also but I really miss Tim’s stories.along with a lot of other writers that have,’t posted in a while.

  11. jhowe

    Deer Rudolf,

    We got your letter. Suffice it to say we weren’t pleased. Donner wanted to kick your ass and Blitzen, well, Blitzen can be a little morbid. So we took a vote and except for Blitzen, it was unanimous. If you want to see Hermey alive again, go to the Island of Misfit Toys and never return. We’re serious. You can kiss your cushy new job at Hasbro goodbye. And if you don’t go to the island, we’ll know, and then we let Blitzen take over. Believe me, you don’t want that.

    Yours Truly,

    Dasher

    P.S.
    Don’t go blabbing to Santa either. He’s on board with this. Seriously, he is. So don’t say anything.

    Note to Reader: On Christmas Eve, it was once again foggy. When Santa inquired about Rudolf, all eight reindeer scuffed at the snow and whistled inanely. Santa got a stern look on his face and Cupid sang like a canary. Santa asked for a volunteer to go to the Island of Misfit Toys and retrieve his star reindeer. Blitzen stepped forward immediately. An hour after he flew off, Rudolf appeared with the Abominable Snowman. The creature kept roaring something about free venison and Blitzen was nowhere to be found. Santa didn’t have time to look for him and soon the team was off with the laden sleigh. And that’s how Rudolf got the other reindeer off his back once and for all.

  12. Pete

    Marty,

    How’s life? Judging by your Facebook account, things are pretty sweet for you right now. Congrats on snagging that Elf-On-A-Shelf guy, I’m sure your standard forty percent commission will help you eek out a living. Wait, you mean that’s just my contract? Shocker.

    And that’s kind of what I’m writing you. And don’t go getting all sentimental on me. I don’t want to hear about how we have a contract. Any agent worth his salt lick should’ve seen this coming.

    You could have at least would have made sure my rider was met. But no. I’m sharing slop with donkeys. There’s no caterer. Donder’s got chronic gas. I mean, we’re talking oats and barley here. It’s gross. Did I mention that I’m sleeping in a stall? No? That’s right, me, the most famous reindeer of all, my likeness plastered all over the world, sleeping on hay. And the team, they expect me to drill with them. Like I’m going out to fly around. It’s three degrees outside. Fahrenheit.

    I totally get what it must have been like for David Ruffin. All that talent, blotted out by bumbling backup singers. Meanwhile Blitzen is going on about his ancestor, Borghid, the great Norwegian Warrior. It’s enough to make you want to play in traffic.

    But back to me, Martin. More specifically, the money maker. I was the one who had the nose job. Four separate procedures to get the “glow”. Oh, do you recall? You might have the ideas, but I was the one getting the work done.

    What happened to my own show? Remember, after my special went gangbusters? All that talk about inking my own reality TV deal? Look at the freaks I’ve had to work around. The abominable snowman, more like drug addled lunatic. And then there’s the lunatic himself, Yukon Cornelius? His carnival? How he threatened to mount me on his wall if I didn’t join his travelling sideshow. To this day every time I hear a train whistle I black out, only to wake up with patches of my fur missing.

    Let’s talk about that, Marty? Your little side deals with the fat man. My royalties. The millions you’ve stolen from me. Ovaltine. Disney. Wheaties. Under Armor. Red Bull. On and on it goes. What, you think I didn’t know? I know, Marty. Oh I know.

    But I’ve got a guy, now. Raul, who despite his small stature and pointy ears is a ball-busting union guy. He’s a workshop guy, and he’s making things happen. Raul understands that I’m the show. And from here on I will be called *Rude-on, not Rudolph.
    That’s patent pending, and if it’s still not clear to you, I’m going solo.

    That’s right Martin. By the time you read this I’ll be somewhere in the keys. Soaking up the sun, applying SPF 80 to this surgically enhanced nose of mine. I’m done. I’ve had it, you deal the doofuses, I’m taking my talents to South Beach. Or Mexico, where Raul’s just gotten word there’s a guy willing to pay up Marty.

    Ever hear of Pablo Noel? They’re coughing up the pesos, Marty. And Raul only wants ten percent.

    I’m out.

    *Rude-On

    *TM All Rights Reserved

      1. jhowe

        Whoops, that was met for DMelde below. But now that I’ve read yours, I find you also wrote a very entertaining comedy piece. It’s nice to keep it light during the holidays.

  13. DMelde

    Santa rolled over in bed and farted. The bedroom soon filled with the aroma of stale cookies and wet reindeer. He sat up and reached for a cookie on the plate on his nightstand.

    He hesitated, just for a moment, because he knew he had a cookie addiction, but damn it, it was the Christmas Crunch, and on top of all of the other pressures of the season, Rudolph was missing. He told himself that he needed this cookie. He grabbed two.

    Santa left his bedroom and walked over to his office. He grabbed another cookie from another plate on his desk.

    “Enablers!” he growled, at no one in particular, but everyone knew he meant the elves.

    He reread the letter Rudolph had left for the other reindeer.

    “Dear Wolf Bait,

    I can’t take it anymore and I’m quitting the Reindeer Guild. Not that I ever felt like I was a part of it anyway. You were all jealous of me and that’s why you wouldn’t let me play in any of the Games- because you knew I’d win!

    I’m not only quitting the guild, I’m quitting Christmas too. You can tell that fat old man I’m tired of hauling his butt around the world every year. Good luck finding your way through the Christmas blizzards and fog without my help.

    I’m joining Festivus instead. That’s right, Festivus, for the rest of us. This letter represents my airing of grievances. I’m also getting an aluminum Festivus Pole, so you can take the North Pole and shove it. And none of you are invited to the Feats of Strength, or the Festivus dinner. You’d all lose anyway.

    Please tell my mom I’ll be over later to visit her.

    Sincerely,

    Rudolph”

    Santa sighed. Rudolph could be such a dick at times.

    Well, there wasn’t much to be done about it, except to go find him. He brushed the cookie crumbs out of his beard, put on his red jacket and stocking cap, grabbed a handful of cookies, and he headed out the door.

    Merry Christmas everyone, and a blessed New Year.
    ~Dave Melde

  14. Nouseh

    I guess we all knew it was bound to end sooner or later.

    You never really appreciated the work I do here. You always put me in the front, where I did most of the work while you lazy bastards barely pulled your own weights, let alone the weight of the fat man at the back.

    In hindsight, I probably should’ve known that you only cozied up to me for my beautiful, glowing red nose that guided your sorry hinds through many foggy winter trips.

    Yes, I said it, Beautiful. And no, Prancer, for the 100th time it doesn’t glow stronger if you smack it.

    Go ahead. Give it one last try. I dare you.

    You can hate on my nose and “almost-antlers” all you want, but the fact is kids around the world can name me in a heartbeat. No one knows your names. No one cares about you. And no one ever will.

    Ever since Santa got you those new fancy antler-mounted-LED lights, you turned into grade A bullies and I’ve had it with the lot of you! So I’m writing this letter, mostly, to let you know that I hate you. I hate all of you. Especially you, Prancer.

    But most of all, I hate the technology that reindeered my beautiful nose obsolete.

    If your tiny brains didn’t get the message yet, I’m quitting this charade to fight the good fight.
    These humans you continue to call masters have destroyed the environment and will end all of us for good if we don’t stop them.

    I’m joining Animals United; a new, underground, animal-only rebel group to fight back. Pinky and The Brain promised to turn me into a laser blasting, Cyclops reindeer!

    P.S. Sorry about what happened to Prancer, but I did warn him…

  15. Wwalker9

    Dear all,

    You’ve seen this coming. How many times do I have to save Christmas before you start giving me even a mote of respect? By the way Blitzen that’s called a rhetorical question. Don’t answer it, I’m not there to hear you. I’m sick of these reindeer games and you all have done nothing to make me feel welcome or loved. Santa, you’re just as much to blame. How many times have I saved you from becoming a mangled corpse, strung in a tree like a garland? Dancer has been nothing but a liability to the team and that hasn’t stopped you from showing him some love in your office at night. We all know, don’t play dumb.

    I could roast you all for hours but I don’t feel like wasting any more time than I already have. I have been hired by US Defense Department to lead a new battalion of predator drones. It might seem surprising to you, but the drones have difficulty navigating in the fog. The US government appreciates me and my gifts. Before you ask, yes the pay sucks, but that’s not the point. At least they pay me with real money. What are we supposed to do with a check for a thousand kisses? How am I supposed to have a retirement plan? Why am I explaining myself to you? Why am I writing every single thought I’m having right now?

    Goodbye suckers! I hope you crash and burn and ruin everyone’s Christmas.

    Rudolf

  16. thejim

    My Flight before Christmas

    Tis a month before Christmas, as I lay here in the hay,
    All the other reindeer have gone out to play.
    Same thing year after year and I really don’t care,
    I know that St Nichols himself will also be there.

    I lay here; all snug and warm ready to take a nap,
    I can’t help to think this is all a bunch of cr@p.
    I thought I would pen to Santa my letter of resignation,
    Before I go, I need to raise a little hell and damnation.

    When outside the barn there arose such a clatter,
    Then a frozen pie flew in, and the window did shatter.
    Away to the window I flew like a flash,
    Donner was laughing as the others smoked hash.

    The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
    Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
    It was Skippy and Jepp and the Gromlin Elf Twins,
    A few more reindeer and they all had big grins.

    I had to leave now and make it quick,
    Cause any moment there would be a drunken St Nick.
    I was too late, because out of the bar he came,
    And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

    “Now, Skippy! now, Dancer! now, Steve and Conner!
    Hey, Comet! and, Jepp! both, Blitzen and Donner!
    Go grab Rudolf and his stupid red nose.
    Now dash away so I can show him where it goes!

    But Steve was twinkling on Blitzen’s back leg,
    And Jepp decided to pop open a new keg.
    As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
    I said screw this place and I left with a bound.

    Santa had a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
    And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
    I tossed out that pie and amid for his round belly,
    it shook when it hit him, like a bowlful of jelly!

    He spoke not a word, but fell to the ground,
    The others ran to him, but he didn’t make a sound.
    I lit the barn on fire and flew to the roof,
    I would have flipped them off if I didn’t have a hoof!

    Good luck with the flying the sleigh without me this year.
    Cause I just sign a big fat contract with John Deere!
    I flew away and thought I would exclaim, just for spite,
    “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good (BLEEEPING) night!”

  17. DailyProffet

    Not so dear fellow reindeers(and Santa),

    I think it goes without saying as to who this is from, all things considered. I thought about writing this letter for a long time and I always made an excuse as to why I shouldn’t. Excuses like, “this is the only home you have, Ruldoph,” or, “how the hell are you going to write a letter? You have hooves, not hands, Rudolph.” But at last, I decided it was not only necessary, but long overdue. So here I go.

    I’m fed up, and I’m done. Done with all of you and your dim-witted remarks, done with slaving for a stupid holiday that I never get to enjoy, done with those irritating tiny people with the funny ears, and mostly, done with that pathetic, fat, creepy, old lump. Did I mention creepy? Creepy like how he watches kids when they’re sleeping, creepy?

    Anywho, I didn’t write this to complain about how much I loathe all of you. I couldn’t fit all that in a letter. But maybe I’ll write a novel about it all someday. There’s an idea! Oh, yeah, I’m full of those. Ideas. Like that idea I had where I would join the infamous Mr. Grinch and aid him in his mission to steal Christmas.

    Yes, yes. You didn’t see that coming, did you? Or maybe you did. But here’s something I bet you’ve never thought of. I didn’t just recently join the Grinch who will steal Christmas, in fact, I’ve been his inside man, or inside mammal rather, for quite some time now.

    And finally I collected all the information we needed and the time for me to leave this frozen, shimmery dump of a toy factory arrived. I’ll be long gone by the time you read this, and I’ll be right there with the guy who really gets me. We’ll be kickin’ it back, talking about how much we hate you and the holidays, and coming up with the greatest plan in the history of great plans to not just steal, but destroy Christmas forever.

    Well, that’s all I have to say for now. Goodbye. Enjoy life while you still can, because you know, I’m gonna destroy your careers and all.

    Sincerely,

    You know exactly who.

  18. dorkenheimer

    A Letter From the Heart
    To all you flea-bitten, rabblerousers:
    This is IT! The final straw! I’ve had it up to my shiny, bulbous cherry nose with you backyard bullies! I’m packing my bags! I’ve about had it with every unfortunate moment you remind me of my oversized facial feature! Yes, it’s big and red! Get over it! How does this disqualify me from playing games with you like hoof-mitten where you all agreed my nose was too distracting? Or Jack Frost Tag? Vixen said I’m too slow because my nose weighs me down. That doesn’t even make sense! What about never picking me for Wreath-Ring Ball? The only time I would agree was during Deer-Hide and Seek when Donner told me I’ll just have an unfair disadvantage!
    You always separate yourselves from me, but I’m about the only one with a normal name! Dasher? Dancer? Prancer? Comet? Cupid? Blitzen? Y’all sound like a reject boyband who had their jingle bells removed at an early age! The names you called me weren’t even half as thoughtful, though I’m doubting you can do better than “red-nosed” and “stop-light”. You’d think since we can fly we’d be above elementary level name-calling! We’re old enough to be raising our own fawn at this point, but you’re all too busy touching antler tips and sharing yellow snow to look at Vixen twice! She’s already gone in heat twice thinking about an intimate moment with those idiotic normal reindeer from across the river! Am I the only normal one here?
    I’m glad the weather has been getting worse up to now. Maybe I won’t have to work as hard this year or get skipped for magical sleigh pulling duty all together. Good luck, mangers! I’m going to Jamaica to have the greenest grass you’ve ever seen in your life, and nothing you can all say to that old, cherry butterball will make me come back to save your goofy-hooved, button droppings from spilling the moment you get into the air in the blizzard!

    Magically Yours,
    Rudolph “the Red-Nosed” Rastafarian

COMMENT