F your Elf

I have been dreading Thanksgiving.

And, not just because can-shaped cranberry sauce gives me anxiety.

I have been dreading Thanksgiving because it means the return of that damn two-legged bastard the Elf on the Shelf.

Seriously.  I hate him.

Okay, to be fair, I can't even find him.  That asshole spent the last year on a shelf judging me for not moving him.  And now...suddenly...I can't find his creepy ass.

Perhaps you are wondering where he might have gone.  Obviously he didn't move himself.  Lord knows, if he was capable of that, I wouldn't hate him so damn much.  The truth is, I let my kids touch the elf.  Why, you ask?  Because, it beats having to listen to them bitch about not touching the elf.

Last year, my son became obsessed with the elf.  So much so, that all he wanted for Christmas was elf things.  He wanted clothes and books and pets for the elf.  He wanted to dress like an elf.  Essentially, he wanted to be an elf.  I don't blame him, I guess.  That elf has a more exciting life than other people claim they have on Facebook.

Snow angels in sugar...check
Fishing for goldfish in the toilet...check
Zip-lining on the drapes...check

So...why do I hate such an AMAZING specimen?  Well, the truth is, I don't necessarily hate him.  I hate what he stands for.  He stands for the bastardizing of a tradition for the sake of money and fame. Exactly what I hate about society.

Remember when people used to take pictures so they could remember a moment?  That was a lovely time.  Now people take pictures so they can Snapchat that shit, and we can all see how wonderful their lives are.

And, after Thanksgiving, it only gets worse.

Because before Thanksgiving, people were only sensationalizing their own lives...  Now, they are also sensationalizing the lives of their elves.

My elf is clearly better than your elf.  Because my elf has elf donuts and your elf just sits on the shelf.

My elf dresses in Lululemon, because pilled-felt just doesn't cut it in this house.

My elf drives Barbie's car, and yours just drives a stuffed reindeer.  Take that, bitches.

What the fuck?  And if you think I'm exaggerating, get on Etsy.  Check out what they are currently selling for that creepy fucker.  They sell EVERYTHING.  Clothes, masks, food, games.  And worst of all, people actually buy them.  I would love to think these purchases are for the children.  Maybe they are.  But it seems that many are using said props to make the other elves feel insecure about their own lives.

Speaking of insecure, I am incredibly not creative when it comes to my elf.  Again, the most creative thing I have done thus far is lose him.  However, I'm a creative person, so, many people have asked me about the fun ideas I've had for my elf.  So, I'm forced to admit that I place him on one shelf and then move him to another shelf.  And then I feel judged.  So, it's not bad enough that I have some freaky ass elf sitting on a shelf judging me one month out of the year.  Now, humans are judging me, as well.

What do I want to say to said judgers?  It's the Elf on the FUCKING shelf.  Not the Elf on the Train, or the Elf on the Moon or the Elf in the Jeep.

Let's discuss something else about the elf.  That bastard is EXPENSIVE.  $30.  That's, like 4 months of Netflix.  I'm actually paying a dollar a day to house that creepster.

I digress.

I love turkey.

I love mashed potatoes.

I love pumpkin pie.

But, honestly...  I hate that media-whore the elf.

And, with any luck, he will continue his game of hide-and-seek in my household and yours.