Fiction, Monologues, Plays & More
CUPID: Hi, I’m Cupid. No, not the fucking little fairy that goes around piercing people in the heart with a bow and arrow. That would be rude! Seriously, who does that? No, I’m the 12th reindeer. Wait, how goddamn many of us were there? Seriously, it’s a question. Don’t you answer?! Yeah, whateva! I dunno! 13? Fuckin’ 10?! Anyways, I got a little gripe.
Hey, you kids get off my damn lawn! Yeah you! That’s my lawn! Skedaddle.
Sorry, what was I sayin’? Oh yeah, kids!
Anyway, no, that wasn’t it. It was that goddamn night!
Hey, have you got a cigarette? No, huh. Oh, okay. Well Anyways. You know I’ve always resented having the same name as that damn arrow shooting fairy. I mean, it’s not even a common name like Tom, Dick, Harry…? Seriously, what are the odds?! Oh yeah, you’re not the answerin’ sort. Well, I’ll tell ya, I’ve got a gripe about that night. See, Rudolph is actually a son of a bitch! I’m not kiddin’ you! A deal douchebag! Or, as my friend and I used to say, a real colostomy bag. Because, if you think about it, a douche bag is just a bag of vinegar that a woman inserts in her holiest of holies. But a colostomy bag, well, my friend, that is a bag of shit that has to be funneled out of your guts because your sphincter ain’t workin! Ha! Call everyone a colostomy bag from now on! I’m tellin’ you. You’ll feel much better! Anyway, what was I sayin’? Oh yeah, Rudolph is a real colostomy bag, rude as shit. Well I tells him off one day, I says, Rudolph, you ain’t nothin’ special just because of your nose.” Rudy just laughed at me. Laughed at me!
The night. The night was one of those eery creepy ones. A real creeper.
Lots of bats.
It was going to be a real long night, you could just tell! It was completely overcast. The boss is all tense, you know, trying to stay Jolly and all that jazz but you could crack a nut in his jaw, he was so tense. Anyways, and Mrs. Claus, you know how she gets on Christmas Eve.
(Tips fingers to his lips to indicate that she’s a drunk)
Useless. So the boss is trying to keep it together. He’s going through the shed looking for floodlights or something. But you gotta remember this is 1939 so floodlights really just means fire. We were kind of in a damned if we do, damned if we don’t type of situation. Do we A) fly around in the dark? I mean, that’s not optimal. Do you have any idea how dangerous it is up there? Even one little bird flying straight into your face with the beak and the claws and the flapping, I mean, it’s bye bye birdie! And we’ve got an injured flyer. Or B) take a giant fuckin flame thrower up there and fly around in a great big fireball. I mean, we’d be able to see alright! We’d be able to see as we all roasted alive! That’s the real meanin’ of crispy critters. So what happens?!
There’s all this mist and big surprise, what a surprise, here comes Rudolph to save the day. “Hey boss, he says, I can light this thing up.” And there he goes bright as the north fuckin’ star. Crazy.
Everybody fuckin’ cheers! No joke, they cheer! Us reindeer is stompin’ our hooves in the snow, elves are all shoutin’ in those goddamn high pitched tinny voices of theirs. Still hear those damn squeely little bastards in my sleep. I gotta admit it was a moment. Visibility without the fire ball. Well played, yes, indeed.
But you know what, there was 8 more of us. Oh yeah, now I remember there was 8 of us guys – me, Donner, Blitzen, Dasher, Dancer, Prancer… um… what was the rest of their names? See, this is what happens when you get old. You forget everything. And things get enlarged – like my prostate. Do you have any idea how hard an enlarged prostate hurts? No, you don’t! Or, to be fair, maybe you, I don’t know you. Other things shrink. Like my penis. I haven’t seen that thing in years. Practically useless. Except when nurse Cherry drops by. He he. Nurse Cherry. Hey, that’s her real name too! And she is. A Cherry that is. My wanker pops right up like a weasel out of the ground when she shows up. She gives me my pills, tidies up and asks me about my aches and pains. And all the time I’m just watchen her sweet little rear end and pert little headlights. Built like a neat and tidy little ship she is.
Ah, but where was I? Oh yes, the crew, the whole crew. People don’t understand, it wasn’t like in the book. Rudolph wasn’t a persecuted little underdog who realized at the 24th hour that he could save the day! He was a cocky sonofabitch that happened to be born with an advantage above the rest of us. Hey, he knew he could light that damn thing up! But did he speak up during dinner? No! Did he speak up when the Mrs. was on her 4th hot toddy? No! Did he speak up once the boss was so close to the edge he proposed riding around in a ball of flames? No! Well, yes, actually, yes, that’s when he finally says, hey boss, I think I got an answer that won’t burn us all to cinders. Selfish bastard. Did I mention he was a selfish bastard?
And what does he get for making us all wait in tense agony?! A round of muthafuckin’ applause!
But here’s the real kicker, we were a team, a fuckin’ team of reindeer. It wasn’t just Rudolph plus 8. This ain’t Diana Ross and the Supremes. No, we got names, we got faces, and pensions. But who steals all the glory?! That goddamn colostomy bag Rudolph! Could he have hauled that fuckin’ sleigh without the rest of us? Hell no! and yet he gets everything, all the rights, all the rights to the book, the song. And he made the rest of us out to be bullying assholes. Which, I might add, we were not! I might be now but who the hell cares? Ah, who the hell cares about any of it? Who gives a fuck. I don’t care. Not me. I’m just an old, horny, reindeer living in a run down shack yelling at kids to get off my lawn. Now, who the hell are you? Go away! Get off my lawn! Skedaddle!
Questa Gleason is your average bleeding heart liberal, showgirl, acro-yogi, writer and singer living in Los Angeles. She is not, and she asked me to repeat this, not a hippie. Thank you for reading. Please direct any and all questions to management.