The Ever-Loving Virgin Prince
Sunday, January 25, 2004
Reindeer: The True Party Animal
My faithful readers,
The other night, at about 2:00 in the morning, I awoke to a loud pounding at my door. Stumbling out of my bedroom in my bathrobe with the ducks on it, I slowly dragged my feet towards the door. It was Blitzen. That old alcoholic reindeer was at my door with a case of beer and a floozy on each arm. I opened my door to inspect the goods. One of the girls was a hot blonde in a tight haltertop and very short, very tight shorts. The other was a cute Asian girl with red streaks in her hair, a pink tee-shirt, and sparkly black pants. Blitzen, of course, had on a very loosened necktie and sky-blue scarf. A Lucky Strike was in his mouth and hung from his lip when he spoke.
“Hot damn! It’s good to be in California in January! I used to only get to see the world in December,” my reindeer buddy said, “how ya doin’ there Virgin?”
“Hey there Blitzen,” I said to my hoofed compatriot, “it’s good to see you. A bit late though isn’t it?”
“Aw heck, you only live once, even if it is forever. Have a beer!” he said as he shoved a bottle in my hand.
“You know, it’s a Wednesday night and I have to be up in five hours...”
He’d brought Pabst Blue Ribbon. Well, we superhero-types are supposed to be nocturnal anyway.
“Heck, come on in Blitzen.”
“I brought along Bambi here, so’s we could both have some company.” Blitzen whispered in my ear as he pointed out the blonde girl.
“Thanks, old chum, but it won’t be necessary. My heart belongs to another. Perhaps Bobo might be in need of a playmate.”
“Forget the ape!” my reindeer pal wheezed, “I’ll keep ‘em both to myself then. You’re still pining after that Canadian gal huh?”
“Well, yeah. I guess so.” I shrugged.
“Well she’s up in Vancouver right now, let’s break out the Twister!” Blitzen yelled as he sprayed us all with the foam from a shook up bottle of Pabst.
18 rounds we played, 18 long, difficult rounds. I’d expected the ability to contort which I had mastered during my years of training in a Nepalese temple would make me the guaranteed victor. I was wrong. There was the added difficulty of Blitzen’s occasional drunken stumbles, which often resulted in a deer hoof stepping downward on my groin. Furthermore, the girls themselves could contort with the best of them, and their skill was merely the result of a few years of training, “on stage” they told me. Enviable harlots! If only I had been able to get such profitable training, rather than having to shave my head and live off of a diet of grubs for 3 years, I might never have stopped!
Finally, I could take no more Twister. I’d had far too many things I’d not expected shoved in my face, and quite frankly, I wanted to head to the restroom to check on what level of discoloration I had below the belt. Having won the previous 17 rounds, I conceded the last round to either Bambi or Magenta, I can’t remember which. Blitzen, of course, had found the rum by this time.
After 15 minutes in the restroom, a liberal application of salve, and a proper wardrobe change, I attended once more to my guests. When I returned, Blitzen was in the kitchen charming the ladies, the three of them sipping and gulping at tall glasses of rum and Jolt Cola.
“I see you’ve taken to standing on your hind legs, old chum.” I commented to my reindeer buddy.
“Yeah, well, you know what they say. Four legs good, two legs better.”
“I’ll drink to that!”
Before long we’d finished the bottle of rum and moved on to gin. We quickly sunk into terrible place of depravity. Before long, we were standing in the kitchen with our pants around our ankles, my boxer shorts exposed, putting our hands together and making lifelong pacts. Then we got to the business of singing lusty sea-chanteys. In short time, Blitzen had begun running around the house exposing himself, I, barely averting my eyes in time, each time. We had, without a doubt, had far too much to drink. Our eyes spoke volumes of our condition, filled with looks of lust, confusion, or being near-death. And what did the large volume of alcohol floating around in our bellies lead to?
“Hey! Let’s go out and fight crime!”
So there we were, out in a cold alleyway at 5 in the morning on a Wednesday night. Bambi and Magenta stood there shivering in their barely-there clothing, the frigid air transforming their now very-visible nipples into something capable of chiseling rock. Blitzen stood leaning against a wall, quickly smoking his way through a pack of Lucky Strikes. I myself stood tall above them, perched on a rooftop, drunkenly alert to signs of crime. There’s not a lot going on at 5 in the morning.
Finally, I saw a young lad spraying graffiti on a wall the next block over. “Crime ho!” I yelled down to my compatriots at ground level. They took off running to catch the criminal at work. Blitzen was the first one to reach the vandal, and caught him off-guard with a left hook, before reaching behind his back with his upper right leg and producing a knife.
“Whoa!” I cried to the reindeer as I leapt down from above, placing myself between him and the young punk, “What are you doing?!”
“I’m taking out the bad guy!” Blitzen said defiantly.
“Since when do good guys defeat villains by punching them in the jaw and then knifing them?”
“That’s what Yul Brenner did in The Ultimate Warrior!”
“That was a movie! And it was in the post-apocalyptic future! You don’t see me driving around in a dune buggy and hoarding water like Mad Max do you?”
“Well crap, should we tie him up then and leave a note for the cops with a red hoof print on it?” my reindeer chum asked me.
“Aw, let’s just go home. I’m tired.” I said with a long sigh.
“Alright, I think me and the girls were about ready to hit the sack anyway.” Blitzen agreed exhaustedly. The two girls nodded in agreement, their skin had started to turn blue from the cold.
Off to bed I headed, to sleep for an hour before work, and dream of warm Vancouver mornings. Four hours later, at work, I felt like death. Reindeer are fun, but I don’t think I could handle the life of an antlered quadruped myself.
Be seeing you,
The Virgin Prince
The other night, at about 2:00 in the morning, I awoke to a loud pounding at my door. Stumbling out of my bedroom in my bathrobe with the ducks on it, I slowly dragged my feet towards the door. It was Blitzen. That old alcoholic reindeer was at my door with a case of beer and a floozy on each arm. I opened my door to inspect the goods. One of the girls was a hot blonde in a tight haltertop and very short, very tight shorts. The other was a cute Asian girl with red streaks in her hair, a pink tee-shirt, and sparkly black pants. Blitzen, of course, had on a very loosened necktie and sky-blue scarf. A Lucky Strike was in his mouth and hung from his lip when he spoke.
“Hot damn! It’s good to be in California in January! I used to only get to see the world in December,” my reindeer buddy said, “how ya doin’ there Virgin?”
“Hey there Blitzen,” I said to my hoofed compatriot, “it’s good to see you. A bit late though isn’t it?”
“Aw heck, you only live once, even if it is forever. Have a beer!” he said as he shoved a bottle in my hand.
“You know, it’s a Wednesday night and I have to be up in five hours...”
He’d brought Pabst Blue Ribbon. Well, we superhero-types are supposed to be nocturnal anyway.
“Heck, come on in Blitzen.”
“I brought along Bambi here, so’s we could both have some company.” Blitzen whispered in my ear as he pointed out the blonde girl.
“Thanks, old chum, but it won’t be necessary. My heart belongs to another. Perhaps Bobo might be in need of a playmate.”
“Forget the ape!” my reindeer pal wheezed, “I’ll keep ‘em both to myself then. You’re still pining after that Canadian gal huh?”
“Well, yeah. I guess so.” I shrugged.
“Well she’s up in Vancouver right now, let’s break out the Twister!” Blitzen yelled as he sprayed us all with the foam from a shook up bottle of Pabst.
18 rounds we played, 18 long, difficult rounds. I’d expected the ability to contort which I had mastered during my years of training in a Nepalese temple would make me the guaranteed victor. I was wrong. There was the added difficulty of Blitzen’s occasional drunken stumbles, which often resulted in a deer hoof stepping downward on my groin. Furthermore, the girls themselves could contort with the best of them, and their skill was merely the result of a few years of training, “on stage” they told me. Enviable harlots! If only I had been able to get such profitable training, rather than having to shave my head and live off of a diet of grubs for 3 years, I might never have stopped!
Finally, I could take no more Twister. I’d had far too many things I’d not expected shoved in my face, and quite frankly, I wanted to head to the restroom to check on what level of discoloration I had below the belt. Having won the previous 17 rounds, I conceded the last round to either Bambi or Magenta, I can’t remember which. Blitzen, of course, had found the rum by this time.
After 15 minutes in the restroom, a liberal application of salve, and a proper wardrobe change, I attended once more to my guests. When I returned, Blitzen was in the kitchen charming the ladies, the three of them sipping and gulping at tall glasses of rum and Jolt Cola.
“I see you’ve taken to standing on your hind legs, old chum.” I commented to my reindeer buddy.
“Yeah, well, you know what they say. Four legs good, two legs better.”
“I’ll drink to that!”
Before long we’d finished the bottle of rum and moved on to gin. We quickly sunk into terrible place of depravity. Before long, we were standing in the kitchen with our pants around our ankles, my boxer shorts exposed, putting our hands together and making lifelong pacts. Then we got to the business of singing lusty sea-chanteys. In short time, Blitzen had begun running around the house exposing himself, I, barely averting my eyes in time, each time. We had, without a doubt, had far too much to drink. Our eyes spoke volumes of our condition, filled with looks of lust, confusion, or being near-death. And what did the large volume of alcohol floating around in our bellies lead to?
“Hey! Let’s go out and fight crime!”
So there we were, out in a cold alleyway at 5 in the morning on a Wednesday night. Bambi and Magenta stood there shivering in their barely-there clothing, the frigid air transforming their now very-visible nipples into something capable of chiseling rock. Blitzen stood leaning against a wall, quickly smoking his way through a pack of Lucky Strikes. I myself stood tall above them, perched on a rooftop, drunkenly alert to signs of crime. There’s not a lot going on at 5 in the morning.
Finally, I saw a young lad spraying graffiti on a wall the next block over. “Crime ho!” I yelled down to my compatriots at ground level. They took off running to catch the criminal at work. Blitzen was the first one to reach the vandal, and caught him off-guard with a left hook, before reaching behind his back with his upper right leg and producing a knife.
“Whoa!” I cried to the reindeer as I leapt down from above, placing myself between him and the young punk, “What are you doing?!”
“I’m taking out the bad guy!” Blitzen said defiantly.
“Since when do good guys defeat villains by punching them in the jaw and then knifing them?”
“That’s what Yul Brenner did in The Ultimate Warrior!”
“That was a movie! And it was in the post-apocalyptic future! You don’t see me driving around in a dune buggy and hoarding water like Mad Max do you?”
“Well crap, should we tie him up then and leave a note for the cops with a red hoof print on it?” my reindeer chum asked me.
“Aw, let’s just go home. I’m tired.” I said with a long sigh.
“Alright, I think me and the girls were about ready to hit the sack anyway.” Blitzen agreed exhaustedly. The two girls nodded in agreement, their skin had started to turn blue from the cold.
Off to bed I headed, to sleep for an hour before work, and dream of warm Vancouver mornings. Four hours later, at work, I felt like death. Reindeer are fun, but I don’t think I could handle the life of an antlered quadruped myself.
The Virgin Prince
