The Ever-Loving Virgin Prince
Friday, December 19, 2003
Warming Your Spirits With Heartburn This Holiday Season!
Friends and Mortals!
As it worked out, I ended up at the bar yesterday with Blitzen, an old friend of mine and member of Santa’s crew. We had drinks and shared memories of times past. Of course, we brought up the tale of when we first met.
I was just a young lad of 10 that Christmas, way back when. Santa was a little bit more tipsy than usual and had completely missed the roof to my house, landing his sleigh in my front yard. Even as a young lad I had the heightened senses of a hero, and as Santa fumbled with the door and stumbled into my house, I awoke and got up to investigate. There was Santa in the living room, sitting in my father’s armchair eating a bag of Cheetos he had pilfered from our kitchen. That year puberty had started to kick in, and as I walked out into the house in my tight Ghostbusters pajamas, Blitzen saw me through the window and let loose with a loud scream of, “Hey! Check out the Yule log on that kid!”
So embarrassed was I that I ran off to my room and threw on my robe. Running back out, I ran through the living room, over Santa’s toes, and out the front door. Outside, I grabbed the garden hose and gave the reindeer a good spray. They jumped up and squirmed around, the water almost instantaneously forming icicles on their bodies.
“Ha ha!” I laughed, “Who’s stiff now?! By the way, that Santa Claus movie with Dudley Moore sucked!”
The reindeer begrudgingly agreed. They acknowledged that Dudley Moore’s Arthur had been closer to the truth.
Well, that was the first time I met Blitzen. The first time he met me was during one of my many time traveling adventures. Back in 1941, Santa Claus, the reindeer, and I had teamed up to fight the Nazis. That was a swell old time, we had a mistaken battle with the Justice Society, and I got to see Santa shove a bag of coal up Hitler’s ass.
Ah, but that was the past. Yesterday, Blitzen and I were just knocking back drinks and talking. Of course, the subject of Rudolph came up. “Pretty-boy tweaker,” that’s what Blitzen called him.
“That god-damn pretty-boy tweaker! I’m so freakin’ sick of that one-nut, inbred, dwarfen reindeer! Him and Santa’s god-damn nepotism. Of course he’s the frickin’ favorite! He’s the only thing Santa has left after that ‘magical’ drunken night Santa had in the petting zoo all those years ago.”
The information was more than I’d needed to know.
“That punk-ass gully-deer doesn’t even do much. We’ve gotta pull all the weight! Rudolph just runs in front!” Blitzen continued.
“Yeah, but he does have that neat glowing red nose,” I pointed out to my drunken friend.
“Hey, you’d have a bright red nose too, if you had his coke habit.”
I sat stunned for a moment, surprised, “Oh, is that what makes it glow?”
“Nah, that’s the PCP. That stuff does some crazy things. Some guys get the strength of 5 men, some survive falls from the tops of tall buildings. Once I even saw an elf saw through his own arm while building a Holly Hobby play-oven. Didn’t even flinch, that amped-up runt.”
“Geez. That the secret to your flight? Unhealthy doses of PCP?” I asked Blitzen.
“Aw, hell no! I won’t touch that stuff. Nah, Santa mixes pixie dust in with our reindeer chow. It’s pretty clever how he gets it too. Once a year he takes a trip to the land of Faerie. While he’s there he starts ranting and raving about how he doesn’t believe in fairies, and how they’re just this big story made up by the CIA as part of some big conspiracy. Once the fairies start to fall down, he scoops them up and puts them in a bottle, then he starts clapping his hands.” Blitzen said as he gulped down a huge chug of beer.
“Wow, that’s nuts.”
“Yeah, you should see how he gets the pixie dust from them. He has to milk them with tweezers. Then he uses them for paint-detailing when they get too old.”
Blitzen paused for a minute, pulled something from his side and continued on, “Hey, you want to see some nude pictures of Tinkerbell? Mind the bruised nipples.”
I took an admiring look at the 3-inch sex kitten before handing the Polaroid back. I asked him, “Alright. Well if you hate your job so much, why don’t you just retire?”
“Can’t,” Blitzen muttered, “We don’t age, that means we don’t get to retire. You know, I’ve been pulling that damn sleigh for what? 20 centuries? And still, I don’t get to stop until the sun goes supernova.”
“Dude, that sucks. You oughtta think about faking your death and getting some plastic surgery. It worked for Osama.”
“Oh, we know where he is. Santa keeps tabs on everyone, and let me tell you, when it comes to keeping cameras in bathrooms, old Saint Nick makes Chuck Berry look like a serious amateur.”
Blitzen finished the last of his beer and continued on, “Hey, you know, out of everything, you know what bugs me the most? The kids can name Rudolph, but they can’t name the rest of the reindeer. No one can. We’ve been here the longest, we do all the work, and no one knows us. It’s just sick.”
“Aw, I’m sure that’s not true.” I tried to comfort him.
“Oh yeah? You try to name us!”
I stumbled for a minute, unable to think of a proper response. Finally, I let out with, “Oh, you know I’m bad with names, and besides, you’re the only one I hang out with, Plisken.”
“Blitzen.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“Uh huh. Well it just proves my point is all.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked the whining reindeer, “Well if you’re so hot, why don’t you name all the reindeer then?’
“Alright, I will! Let’s see. There’s Comet, and Vixen, and... uh... Pedro... and Yeltsin... Oh! And Marty in shipping. Aw hell, I don’t know either.” Blitzen sighed as he looked at his empty glass. He yelled at the bartender, “Hey! Barkeep! Another whiskey!”
The man tending the bar walked over to us, “I’m sorry sir. We’re all out of our fine Scotch Whiskey. Ms. Spears drank it all.”
This enraged Blitzen, who then demanded, “WHAT?! Where the hell is that no-talent whore?”
“I believe she’s in the bathroom sir.” the bartender quietly whispered to us.
There she was, blonde, pop-sensation Britney Spears, stepping out of the bathroom and wiping the last of the vomit from her lip. The older men at the bar scooted their stools in closer to hide their drunken erections. I glanced briefly and then turned back, more interested in the beer in my hand. Both were bubbly, but I had a feeling the beer would lead to more interesting conversation.
The ditzy, just-turned-legal-to-drink alcoholic walked over, towards us at the bar. She must have taken notice of me in my black face mask. Blitzen just sat glaring at her.
“Oooh! Who are you?” she asked as she attempted to seat herself on my lap. For an anorexic, she was surprisingly chunky, and was starting to hurt my legs.
“Uh... I’m the Virgin Prince,” I sheepishly told her as I tried to figure a way out of the situation.
“Oooh! A virgin? Me too!” she said without batting an eye, “You want to come back to my place? I’m not a girl...”
“Not yet a talent, yeah, yeah, we know.” Blitzen muttered.
“Hey, who the hell are you?” Britney snapped at him.
“Me?” Blitzen asked rhetorically, “I’m the Devil, we’re on the boat to hell, and I’m going to be standing here long after you’re dead and gone. But you can call me Blitzen.”
“Hey! Screw you! I’ve got money and power! I’ll crush you and be back to Los Angeles by two, drinking coffee!”
Blitzen pulled a dollar bill out and shoved it in her pants, “Yeah, yeah babe. Listen, you’ve done a real good job, I’m sure Virgin will sleep really well tonight. Now howzabout getting off of the Prince’s lap, and taking your act back to the club?”
Britney was furious. She grabbed a drink off of the bar counter and threw it in Blitzen’s face. Blitzen wiped the stinging substance out of his eyes. He licked his lips, he knew this taste. It was the last of the whiskey. The good scotch whiskey. Now he knew this bitch had to die.
“Uh oh.” I said very quietly to myself, “Everytime you spill booze, baby Jesus cries.”
And you definitely don’t want to besmirch Jesus when you’re around a creature of Christmas. Had I not had a pop star pinning my ass to the seat, I would have ran the hell out of the bar. There was bound to be a mess of flying hooves and dyed blonde hair at any minute.
“DON’T YOU KNOW WHO I AM!?!” Britney screamed at the reindeer.
“Yeah. You’re the girl that took the Pepsi challenge and found out that Fred Durst’s semen really does taste better than Ben Affleck’s.” Blitzen slurred at her.
With that, Britney grabbed the empty whiskey bottle and smashed it down on the counter, breaking it, and charging at Blitzen with the jagged gouging instrument. She let out with a primal animal scream, no doubt a throwback to her feral ancestors in Louisiana. Blitzen sidestepped and Britney flew past him, crashing to the floor, and letting go of the bottle, which rolled away from her and was swiftly picked up and tossed away by one of the bar patrons.
“Ha ha!” Blitzen laughed, “The girl that can’t sing isn’t any good with instruments either!”
Britney pulled her right arm back and let loose with a strong, alcohol-fueled right-hook that contacted with Blitzen’s jaw. Blitzen rolled with the punch and then headbutted her soundly. She stumbled backwards, grabbed a stool, and broke it over Blitzen’s back. Blitzen stumbled up against the bar, his head down. As Britney advanced towards him, Blitzen, feigning pain and distraction, then turned to her and presented HIS right-hook.
And let me tell you. Deer can kick. And hooves hurt.
His hoof made contact with her mouth, knocking cleanly out her two front teeth. There was no question of what she’d be wanting for Christmas this year. The angry Spears jumped at Blitzen and tackled him. The two of them rolled around on the floor, intertwined, locked in bitter struggle.
I knew I had to separate them. Things were going to get worse and cops were going to be called. Acting quickly as Blitzen kicked and knocked her away from him, I slyly let loose with a small blast of atomic vision. The beam entered into her, focused tighter than a needle prick, and completely unnoticeable to one as drunk, and distracted, as she. However, I achieved the desired effect, one of her breast implants began to leak.
Immediately, she noticed as the main source of her star power began to shrink and deform.
“Oh Gawd! I gotta get to my doctor!” she screamed as she ran out the back door and on to her private plane.
As Blitzen wiped the blood from his lip, everyone went back to what they were doing before, and I went about cleaning up the mess.
“You know, I could have taken her. I could have taken her, Virgin.” Blitzen quietly said to me.
“Yeah, I know. But the world needs music. And while that might not relate to her, there’s a lot of lonely old men out there that need her boobies to get through the day.”
I pointed to all the old men scooted up closely to the bar counter.
“See them? Those guys will be talking about this night for weeks. They’ll be talking about this with their buddies at work, hanging out around the water cooler and telling their friends how they got to see Britney Spears’s buttcrack while you had her in the headlock.”
“Wow, I guess I did my good deed for this Christmas, huh? Gave a great gift?” Blitzen asked.
“Just look at the smiles on their faces. There’s your answer.”
“You know, you’re pretty smart for a Martian, Virgin.”
“Plutonian.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“Uh huh. Let’s have a drink.”
So we sat at the bar for one last drink. Sometimes it’s just good to be in the company of friends.
“Hey! Look at this!” the bartender exclaimed as he stood up from behind the counter, “Looks like we had another bottle of scotch whiskey after all! It was hidden back here behind the Romulan ale. Care for a fill-up fellas?”
Blitzen pushed his beer mug up, “Make it a tall one.”
“This calls for a toast!” I yelled to my friends, “Gentlemen, to good friends and erections on this holiday season.”
With a loud clinking of glasses, the bar filled with statements of “Hear! Hear!” and “Cheers!”
“You know, I always thought Christina Aguilera was hotter anyway.” said Blitzen as he sipped his whiskey.
“Yeah, I was always rather fond of her assless chaps myself.” I paused, “But you’re a reindeer. She’s a human.”
“Oh, I’m attracted to anything that talks. It’s one of the side-effects of being a mystically-enchanted talking animal... and an alcoholic. Well, not Sharon Osbourne. That bitch is nasty!”
With his last statement, Blitzen promptly passed out, his head thumping against the counter. With that, I left the barkeep a large tip, grabbed Blitzen and walked with him out of the bar. Sitting him down on the curb, I sat beside him and enjoyed a Lucky Strike.
Of course, wouldn’t you know it, Santa Claus walked up.
“Oh dear! What happened to Nixon!?” the fat man asked, concerned.
“You mean Blitzen?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“Uh huh.” I paused and thought. It was time for my Christmas gift to Blitzen. I decided a little white lie couldn’t hurt on a white Christmas.
“Yeah, Britney Spears attacked him! The bar is filled with witnesses! Hurt him really badly! Don’t think he’ll ever be able to pull a sleigh ever again!”
“Oh, poor, poor Blitzen. Guess I’ll retire him early. He won’t have to wait for hell to freeze over to get HIS gold watch.”
A slightly vengeful look filled Santa’s eyes.
“As for Ms. Spears... let the punishment fit the crime.” he growled.
In short, this is why this year, Blitzen will be in Hawaii on Christmas Eve, and why Britney Spears will be literally chomping at the bit as she pulls Santa’s sleigh across the sky alongside 8 very randy reindeer.
Be seeing you,
The Virgin Prince
As it worked out, I ended up at the bar yesterday with Blitzen, an old friend of mine and member of Santa’s crew. We had drinks and shared memories of times past. Of course, we brought up the tale of when we first met.
I was just a young lad of 10 that Christmas, way back when. Santa was a little bit more tipsy than usual and had completely missed the roof to my house, landing his sleigh in my front yard. Even as a young lad I had the heightened senses of a hero, and as Santa fumbled with the door and stumbled into my house, I awoke and got up to investigate. There was Santa in the living room, sitting in my father’s armchair eating a bag of Cheetos he had pilfered from our kitchen. That year puberty had started to kick in, and as I walked out into the house in my tight Ghostbusters pajamas, Blitzen saw me through the window and let loose with a loud scream of, “Hey! Check out the Yule log on that kid!”
So embarrassed was I that I ran off to my room and threw on my robe. Running back out, I ran through the living room, over Santa’s toes, and out the front door. Outside, I grabbed the garden hose and gave the reindeer a good spray. They jumped up and squirmed around, the water almost instantaneously forming icicles on their bodies.
“Ha ha!” I laughed, “Who’s stiff now?! By the way, that Santa Claus movie with Dudley Moore sucked!”
The reindeer begrudgingly agreed. They acknowledged that Dudley Moore’s Arthur had been closer to the truth.
Well, that was the first time I met Blitzen. The first time he met me was during one of my many time traveling adventures. Back in 1941, Santa Claus, the reindeer, and I had teamed up to fight the Nazis. That was a swell old time, we had a mistaken battle with the Justice Society, and I got to see Santa shove a bag of coal up Hitler’s ass.
Ah, but that was the past. Yesterday, Blitzen and I were just knocking back drinks and talking. Of course, the subject of Rudolph came up. “Pretty-boy tweaker,” that’s what Blitzen called him.
“That god-damn pretty-boy tweaker! I’m so freakin’ sick of that one-nut, inbred, dwarfen reindeer! Him and Santa’s god-damn nepotism. Of course he’s the frickin’ favorite! He’s the only thing Santa has left after that ‘magical’ drunken night Santa had in the petting zoo all those years ago.”
The information was more than I’d needed to know.
“That punk-ass gully-deer doesn’t even do much. We’ve gotta pull all the weight! Rudolph just runs in front!” Blitzen continued.
“Yeah, but he does have that neat glowing red nose,” I pointed out to my drunken friend.
“Hey, you’d have a bright red nose too, if you had his coke habit.”
I sat stunned for a moment, surprised, “Oh, is that what makes it glow?”
“Nah, that’s the PCP. That stuff does some crazy things. Some guys get the strength of 5 men, some survive falls from the tops of tall buildings. Once I even saw an elf saw through his own arm while building a Holly Hobby play-oven. Didn’t even flinch, that amped-up runt.”
“Geez. That the secret to your flight? Unhealthy doses of PCP?” I asked Blitzen.
“Aw, hell no! I won’t touch that stuff. Nah, Santa mixes pixie dust in with our reindeer chow. It’s pretty clever how he gets it too. Once a year he takes a trip to the land of Faerie. While he’s there he starts ranting and raving about how he doesn’t believe in fairies, and how they’re just this big story made up by the CIA as part of some big conspiracy. Once the fairies start to fall down, he scoops them up and puts them in a bottle, then he starts clapping his hands.” Blitzen said as he gulped down a huge chug of beer.
“Wow, that’s nuts.”
“Yeah, you should see how he gets the pixie dust from them. He has to milk them with tweezers. Then he uses them for paint-detailing when they get too old.”
Blitzen paused for a minute, pulled something from his side and continued on, “Hey, you want to see some nude pictures of Tinkerbell? Mind the bruised nipples.”
I took an admiring look at the 3-inch sex kitten before handing the Polaroid back. I asked him, “Alright. Well if you hate your job so much, why don’t you just retire?”
“Can’t,” Blitzen muttered, “We don’t age, that means we don’t get to retire. You know, I’ve been pulling that damn sleigh for what? 20 centuries? And still, I don’t get to stop until the sun goes supernova.”
“Dude, that sucks. You oughtta think about faking your death and getting some plastic surgery. It worked for Osama.”
“Oh, we know where he is. Santa keeps tabs on everyone, and let me tell you, when it comes to keeping cameras in bathrooms, old Saint Nick makes Chuck Berry look like a serious amateur.”
Blitzen finished the last of his beer and continued on, “Hey, you know, out of everything, you know what bugs me the most? The kids can name Rudolph, but they can’t name the rest of the reindeer. No one can. We’ve been here the longest, we do all the work, and no one knows us. It’s just sick.”
“Aw, I’m sure that’s not true.” I tried to comfort him.
“Oh yeah? You try to name us!”
I stumbled for a minute, unable to think of a proper response. Finally, I let out with, “Oh, you know I’m bad with names, and besides, you’re the only one I hang out with, Plisken.”
“Blitzen.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“Uh huh. Well it just proves my point is all.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked the whining reindeer, “Well if you’re so hot, why don’t you name all the reindeer then?’
“Alright, I will! Let’s see. There’s Comet, and Vixen, and... uh... Pedro... and Yeltsin... Oh! And Marty in shipping. Aw hell, I don’t know either.” Blitzen sighed as he looked at his empty glass. He yelled at the bartender, “Hey! Barkeep! Another whiskey!”
The man tending the bar walked over to us, “I’m sorry sir. We’re all out of our fine Scotch Whiskey. Ms. Spears drank it all.”
This enraged Blitzen, who then demanded, “WHAT?! Where the hell is that no-talent whore?”
“I believe she’s in the bathroom sir.” the bartender quietly whispered to us.
There she was, blonde, pop-sensation Britney Spears, stepping out of the bathroom and wiping the last of the vomit from her lip. The older men at the bar scooted their stools in closer to hide their drunken erections. I glanced briefly and then turned back, more interested in the beer in my hand. Both were bubbly, but I had a feeling the beer would lead to more interesting conversation.
The ditzy, just-turned-legal-to-drink alcoholic walked over, towards us at the bar. She must have taken notice of me in my black face mask. Blitzen just sat glaring at her.
“Oooh! Who are you?” she asked as she attempted to seat herself on my lap. For an anorexic, she was surprisingly chunky, and was starting to hurt my legs.
“Uh... I’m the Virgin Prince,” I sheepishly told her as I tried to figure a way out of the situation.
“Oooh! A virgin? Me too!” she said without batting an eye, “You want to come back to my place? I’m not a girl...”
“Not yet a talent, yeah, yeah, we know.” Blitzen muttered.
“Hey, who the hell are you?” Britney snapped at him.
“Me?” Blitzen asked rhetorically, “I’m the Devil, we’re on the boat to hell, and I’m going to be standing here long after you’re dead and gone. But you can call me Blitzen.”
“Hey! Screw you! I’ve got money and power! I’ll crush you and be back to Los Angeles by two, drinking coffee!”
Blitzen pulled a dollar bill out and shoved it in her pants, “Yeah, yeah babe. Listen, you’ve done a real good job, I’m sure Virgin will sleep really well tonight. Now howzabout getting off of the Prince’s lap, and taking your act back to the club?”
Britney was furious. She grabbed a drink off of the bar counter and threw it in Blitzen’s face. Blitzen wiped the stinging substance out of his eyes. He licked his lips, he knew this taste. It was the last of the whiskey. The good scotch whiskey. Now he knew this bitch had to die.
“Uh oh.” I said very quietly to myself, “Everytime you spill booze, baby Jesus cries.”
And you definitely don’t want to besmirch Jesus when you’re around a creature of Christmas. Had I not had a pop star pinning my ass to the seat, I would have ran the hell out of the bar. There was bound to be a mess of flying hooves and dyed blonde hair at any minute.
“DON’T YOU KNOW WHO I AM!?!” Britney screamed at the reindeer.
“Yeah. You’re the girl that took the Pepsi challenge and found out that Fred Durst’s semen really does taste better than Ben Affleck’s.” Blitzen slurred at her.
With that, Britney grabbed the empty whiskey bottle and smashed it down on the counter, breaking it, and charging at Blitzen with the jagged gouging instrument. She let out with a primal animal scream, no doubt a throwback to her feral ancestors in Louisiana. Blitzen sidestepped and Britney flew past him, crashing to the floor, and letting go of the bottle, which rolled away from her and was swiftly picked up and tossed away by one of the bar patrons.
“Ha ha!” Blitzen laughed, “The girl that can’t sing isn’t any good with instruments either!”
Britney pulled her right arm back and let loose with a strong, alcohol-fueled right-hook that contacted with Blitzen’s jaw. Blitzen rolled with the punch and then headbutted her soundly. She stumbled backwards, grabbed a stool, and broke it over Blitzen’s back. Blitzen stumbled up against the bar, his head down. As Britney advanced towards him, Blitzen, feigning pain and distraction, then turned to her and presented HIS right-hook.
And let me tell you. Deer can kick. And hooves hurt.
His hoof made contact with her mouth, knocking cleanly out her two front teeth. There was no question of what she’d be wanting for Christmas this year. The angry Spears jumped at Blitzen and tackled him. The two of them rolled around on the floor, intertwined, locked in bitter struggle.
I knew I had to separate them. Things were going to get worse and cops were going to be called. Acting quickly as Blitzen kicked and knocked her away from him, I slyly let loose with a small blast of atomic vision. The beam entered into her, focused tighter than a needle prick, and completely unnoticeable to one as drunk, and distracted, as she. However, I achieved the desired effect, one of her breast implants began to leak.
Immediately, she noticed as the main source of her star power began to shrink and deform.
“Oh Gawd! I gotta get to my doctor!” she screamed as she ran out the back door and on to her private plane.
As Blitzen wiped the blood from his lip, everyone went back to what they were doing before, and I went about cleaning up the mess.
“You know, I could have taken her. I could have taken her, Virgin.” Blitzen quietly said to me.
“Yeah, I know. But the world needs music. And while that might not relate to her, there’s a lot of lonely old men out there that need her boobies to get through the day.”
I pointed to all the old men scooted up closely to the bar counter.
“See them? Those guys will be talking about this night for weeks. They’ll be talking about this with their buddies at work, hanging out around the water cooler and telling their friends how they got to see Britney Spears’s buttcrack while you had her in the headlock.”
“Wow, I guess I did my good deed for this Christmas, huh? Gave a great gift?” Blitzen asked.
“Just look at the smiles on their faces. There’s your answer.”
“You know, you’re pretty smart for a Martian, Virgin.”
“Plutonian.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“Uh huh. Let’s have a drink.”
So we sat at the bar for one last drink. Sometimes it’s just good to be in the company of friends.
“Hey! Look at this!” the bartender exclaimed as he stood up from behind the counter, “Looks like we had another bottle of scotch whiskey after all! It was hidden back here behind the Romulan ale. Care for a fill-up fellas?”
Blitzen pushed his beer mug up, “Make it a tall one.”
“This calls for a toast!” I yelled to my friends, “Gentlemen, to good friends and erections on this holiday season.”
With a loud clinking of glasses, the bar filled with statements of “Hear! Hear!” and “Cheers!”
“You know, I always thought Christina Aguilera was hotter anyway.” said Blitzen as he sipped his whiskey.
“Yeah, I was always rather fond of her assless chaps myself.” I paused, “But you’re a reindeer. She’s a human.”
“Oh, I’m attracted to anything that talks. It’s one of the side-effects of being a mystically-enchanted talking animal... and an alcoholic. Well, not Sharon Osbourne. That bitch is nasty!”
With his last statement, Blitzen promptly passed out, his head thumping against the counter. With that, I left the barkeep a large tip, grabbed Blitzen and walked with him out of the bar. Sitting him down on the curb, I sat beside him and enjoyed a Lucky Strike.
Of course, wouldn’t you know it, Santa Claus walked up.
“Oh dear! What happened to Nixon!?” the fat man asked, concerned.
“You mean Blitzen?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“Uh huh.” I paused and thought. It was time for my Christmas gift to Blitzen. I decided a little white lie couldn’t hurt on a white Christmas.
“Yeah, Britney Spears attacked him! The bar is filled with witnesses! Hurt him really badly! Don’t think he’ll ever be able to pull a sleigh ever again!”
“Oh, poor, poor Blitzen. Guess I’ll retire him early. He won’t have to wait for hell to freeze over to get HIS gold watch.”
A slightly vengeful look filled Santa’s eyes.
“As for Ms. Spears... let the punishment fit the crime.” he growled.
In short, this is why this year, Blitzen will be in Hawaii on Christmas Eve, and why Britney Spears will be literally chomping at the bit as she pulls Santa’s sleigh across the sky alongside 8 very randy reindeer.
The Virgin Prince
