nce upon a time there was a delightful town called Sleepy Hollow.
It was a bright, bustling place of laughter and light. The townsfolk enjoyed meeting to exchange pleasantries over tea, or arranging social engagements such as festive dances. It wasn’t uncommon to see gentlemen riding elegant horses with long manes adorned with bows and simple jewels, waving to neighbors and shopkeepers along the route.
Each Christmas season the street lamps would be decorated with boughs of holly, and a knock on your door would reveal rosy-cheeked carolers, whose voices could lift your spirits higher than the tallest birch tree in the forest.
Then Becky the Elf arrived.
Sure, she seemed perfectly fine, but there was something about her eyes that made the townsfolk leery.
Being the polite society that it was, no one openly accused Becky the Elf of anything, and she was welcomed to the dances, dinners, and social engagements just like everyone else.
Then, one night, Becky disappeared from the Sleepy Hollow Annual Winter Ball. She had been looking out the window as the men began arriving, and then she was gone.
Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream echoed through the night, raising goosebumps on the merry flesh of everyone in town, chilling them to the bone. The thumping of hooves soon followed, revealing a headless horseman to the townspeople who fled for their homes.
From that night on a curfew was put in place, for every evening as the moon rose so did the headless horseman. He rode the empty streets in search of the one thing he wanted back more than anything: HIS HEAD. There were no more dinners, no more dances, no more boughs of holly, for everyone feared the wrath of what now haunted the town of Sleepy Hollow.
Man, that Becky. I mean, really…cursing an entire town?
Alf the Elf is a good Elf during his days at the Hatton House. He does his elfy duties with nary a smirk.
But when the sun sets and After Hours Alf comes alive…it’s a whole different story.
Once the adults of the house are asleep, Alf gets his groove on with Angel the Tree Topper.
Sure, she exudes innocence with her golden locks and blushing countenance – but don’t let that fool you. She dominates their relationship, forcing her filthy ways on the impressionable Alf. He feels dirty obeying her commands, but he likes it. He likes it A LOT.
Alf’s excuse is that their complicated relationship only lasts one month a year, so, really, how can it possibly hurt to embrace the kink while he can?
It seems the Canadians can’t get their elves to behave, either.
I recently received the following letter from an ElfShaming fan:
After gambling and pole dancing – she even pretended to be Miley Cyrus on the wrecking ball – Shirley the Elf has reached a new low. I found her stretched out among the empty wine bottles with a mysterious white powder on her nose – along with a note from Rob Ford, the illustrious Mayor of Toronto.
I have done the responsible thing and sent her to rehab before Santa needs her to report to duty.
Sincerely, Patti Millar
P.S. Please pray for me. She’s a bad, bad elf.
I have a feeling the mayor’s “maybe once” stance on crack may apply to Elves, as well.