Nice one, Fat Man

So the joke is on me.  Turns out the Tree Elves and the Shoe Elves all want references from your previous employer before hiring you.  And his Hiney the King won't give a good word to an elf who had to endure being poked and prodded by kindergarteners who didn't believe in magic for almost 4 weeks straight.

Fine, whatever.  This is a big city I'm in, and I'll bet I can find something to do.  As it is, I met this boxer off of Main street who traded me some money for the last of my North Pole Magic.  Santa Paws thinks flying to the North Pole and chilling with the tubby turd will be better than what he calls the horrors of a Houston summer.  I tried to explain that Santa is a vicious task master, but boxers are a stubborn breed.  He hied off to the pole and I picked myself up a prepaid smartphone and a got a room here in the greens point area.  This place thinks it's tough.  I know tough.  Prison life is easier than the Christmas season I had.  I think tomorrow I'll get a tat then look for gainful employment. 

I don't need you, you Swollen Sadist, I'll find a perfectly lovely job without your shady references anyway

Dear Santa, or should I say Satan?

 

Thanks for nothing, Fat Man.  The past few weeks have been an absolute nightmare.  Some of my fellow elves went to nice single family homes with two, maybe 3 decently well behaved kids.  Some of my fellow elves went to reasonable elementary school classes.  Not me.  I get sent to the third ring of Hades.  On average, 50 kids moved in and out of my view per day.  And I've never seen more tears, more snot, more physical kid-on-kid violence in my life.  Fight Club gave me more warm fuzzies than sitting in this classroom.  You shouldn't have sent an elf.  You should have sent an Archangel.  Or a Slayer.

 I'm out, JellyBelly.  I sat in the blessed and rare relative quiet through the beginning of the Christmas break and I've decided I'm done.  I've always heard awesome things about Cabo.  Either way, I quit, Chubbo.  I'm gone.  I'm taking this job and shoving it.  I'd rather make cookies in trees.  Or shoes.  I'd rather go on quests through Mordor, or chill with Herself.  I'd rather drive scalding nails through my eyeballs than sit another Christmas season in this particularly horrid purgatory. 

 Don't try to find me.  I'll make it super easy.  I'm going to post this blog daily to prove to my fellow elves that there is a whole world out there free from the indentured servitude you call "employment."  Come near me, though, Wide Load, and it won't be pretty.

 Sincerely,

Drifter

 

P.S.  Give the reindeer my sympathies for having to haul your butt around for 24 hours straight