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.

It’s tough for an elf during the holidays. Everyone is always pulling at your ears, or asking you about the North Pole, or glaring disapprovingly at your public drunkenness.

People of Bank Street: I no longer live up North! I am not working for that slave driver, Santa, who chained me to my workstation to improve his productivity. I am self employed now, thank you very much. If you would like to make a donation, just look in the other direction while I nab your wallet.

What?! Oh, don’t look at me all holier-than-thou, you hypocrite. I may not work for Santa anymore, but I still remember his naughty list like the back of my tiny hand. You should not be one to judge. You overfeed your already-obese cat, you hit on your boss to get extra vacation days, and you have some seriously questionable toys hidden under your bed. Thought Santa didn’t keep track of spiked paddles? Think again. I know you.

But don’t worry. I’ll go easy on you. I also know that you emptied your cupboards and gave everything to the Food Bank. You didn’t vote for Ottawa’s doofus of a mayor, and thank goodness, because that guy is crazier than a bag of hammers. And I notice that you are keeping your damaged wallet together with a binder clip. How clever! I’ll just take a twenty and give the rest back. You really shouldn’t keep your SIN card in there, you know. There are sketchy people around.