My memory has been stunted a bit by the drink, so I’m going to write you folks an elfy profile before it all goes black and I wake up in someone else’s alley. Heaven forbid.

As was pointed out at the meeting, I already wrote a bit of a profile in my side intro. Call me overly eager, but I just had so much to share. Still, I am a simple elf. It doesn’t take much to keep me going. A little bag of cinnamon hearts here, a nicked wallet there… These things are the spice of life!  I live in an alley, as you know. I take care of many cats (eight and counting… Punchin, Bingie Bop, Sing Sing, Frito, Disco Ball, Mop, Pooper and Harold), and they are my closest pals, other than the Irrelevants, of course. I spend my days drifting in and out of sobriety and reading romance novels.

Ah, that’s where the story gets sad. You see, I am without a lady elf. Chaisey’s got Red Booth. Shagatha’s got anyone she wants. Foxy, well, he doesn’t say much about his exploits… But I know he has ’em. They call him Foxy for a reason. Even Empty Shell has her gay distinguished boyfriend Richard to hang out with. Panda was eaten, so I guess I can’t count her. I’m not sure if Eye can do things like kissing (hey Eye, can you do things like kissing?).

Then there’s me. When I ran away from Santa’s workshop, I left all my romantic prospects behind me. There are So! Many! Lady! Elves! in the workshop. And they are all handy with a hammer, which is a tremendously useful trait to have in a mate. One lady elf that I think of day and night worked in the train repair shop. Her name was Eloise. She was a vision.


She was also an exotic elf dancer. But I know deep in my heart that she had eyes only for me.

Since settling in Ottawa, I have searched high and low for an elfy lady that could make me feel the way Eloise did (I’ve even looked in Greely, but you don’t want to know what I found there). Who knew this city has such a low elf population! Had I realized, I would have begged Eloise to come join me in my alley. It’s not much, but it’s home.

Must get back to the kitties. If you hear of a lady elf about town, you’ll let me know, won’t you?

I am one sad elf. The beautiful Ms. Butcher thinks us fun-loving Irrelevants have no heart.

No heart! Can you imagine? I am so full of heart! Full right up to my little elfie ears! Sometimes, when I am scavenging the dumpster at Sugar Mountain, I come back to the alley with a whole jar of cinnamon hearts. I HAVE JARS OF HEARTS. Not many elves can say that.

But oh, I am troubled. How do I prove my heartfulness? My selfless kitty adoption? The fact that I liberate wallets from those who do not appreciate them? My sexy little elf tights? (I do not know what my elf tights have to do with my heart, but they DO make my bottom look excellent)

Lovely Ms. Butcher, Smut Specialist and Blogger Babe, I offer you this:

My Heart

That’s me, mostly naked, staring at my heart. See? That thing is HUGE!*

Irrelevants, we need another Emergency Meeting. If the lovely Ms. Butcher thinks we are heartless, than maybe the rest of blog-land does too. This must be rectified! We are lovers, not fighters! We are huggers, not biters! Except when we bite. And occasionally fight. But mostly, we just cuddle! (Shagatha, I’m excluding you here, because I know you would be horrified to be called a cuddler. You shag. There is no confusion on this matter.)

I’m going to go hold the kitties ever so gently. I need to do some soul searching. S-s-sad e-elf.


*You people are sick. My HEART is huge. That’s what I meant. My HEART.