Tinkles’ Revenge
The Fat Man named me Tinkles, so he was on my shit list from the beginnin’.
I was ten years old when my parents dragged me to the North Pole and left me on his front porch wearin’ nuttin’ but a sweatshirt, some breakaway pants and two pairs of gym socks. We’d just come from Vegas, so I wasn’t prepared to deal with anythin’ close to cold weather - let alone the god damn North pole - but good ol’ Ed and Louise sped away in their beloved 1990 IROC before Mrs. C even opened the door. For all they knew, I froze to death that very night, but the only thing that mattered to them at the time was bein’ long gone by sun up. They were aimin’ to outrun their Lepruchan bookies and catch a ferry to Canada to start a new life on the Toronto casino circuit widdout me. And as for yours truly, I’d end up spendin’ the next eight years in The Fat Man’s dump of a workshop that couldn’t even rival the Flamingo Hotel.
I should prolly mention that the reason my folks were even able to find the right place to ditch me is because we’re Elves, so we can see through the magic that keeps it hidden from humans and most other inhospitable creatures, like your run-of-the-mill goblins, swamp things, malevolent fairies and the like. And before you ask, no, we ain’t the Christmas kind - we’re Golden Elves. Totally different race, same species.
Christmas Elves are these little green furry things the size of bunny rabbits that get off on candy canes and egg nog all year round. Meanwhile, my kind look more like The Fat Man himself. That is to say, we can pass for human. But instead of chalky white skin and rosacea, we look good. Caramel bronze all year round, sleek black hair that never grays and green eyes the color of money, baby. And as far as stature is concerned, well, we’re tall enough to see the top of a poker table, which is really all anybody needs.
So you can imagine Mrs. C’s surprise that day I showed up. Not only was I an unnanounced guest ringing their jingle bell at 4 AM, but that was prolly the first time she’d seen an Elf like me live and in the flesh. Her mouth was still hangin’ open when I handed her a letter that read as such:
“Dear Mr. & Mrs. Santy Claus,
Please take care of our boy, Tommy. He’ll be better off witchoo and your little Christmas Elves than he could ever be wit us. See, we need to put all our energies (and serious talents, we might add) into our new magic act so as to help us straighten out a few financial misunderstandins’.
Gotta Boogie,
Ed & Louise Piccoli
P.S. If the show takes off, we’ll send you some tickets on the house!”
When she got done readin’, she just stood there shakin’ her head until I sneezed, which finally made her look up. Somehow, she’d forgotten I was still standin’ outside freezin’ my ass off. Thankfully, she pulled me in the house just before the wind ripped the snaps on my pants wide open for the whole world to see.
“Oh dear, come in child!” she said, like an oldie time nanna or somethin’. Then she put her arm around my shoulders and sat me down in front of the biggest and only fireplace I’d ever seen.
“Just a minute dear,” she said, before givin’ my knee a nice little pat and disappearin’ down a long hallway.
While she was gone, I stood up to warm my hands on the fire. Lookin’ around, it was like Christmas threw up all over the place - tinsel, twinkley lights, nutcrackers, you name it. The only thing like home was the warmth. I closed my eyes and thought of that big, bright Nevada sun. And that’s when I felt the tears comin’ on.
I knew I should suck it up and be a man like Ed always told me to, but I couldn’t stop feelin’ like I was about to be a big cry baby. Luckily, Mrs. C was back by my side right before I lost it. So I plopped back down into that cooshy armchair as she covered me wit a blanket and handed me a cup of hot cocoa, complete with these little red and green marshmallows thingies and a big peppermint stick.
“There, there dear. Now you just wait right here and enjoy your cocoa while I fetch Santa. Everything’s going to be just fine.”
I nodded but said nothin’, as I was busy lickin’ a freakin’ delicious chocolate mustache from my top lip.
“By the way,” she said, “I’m Anya Claus. But you can just call me Mrs. C; all the Elves do.”
‘I ain’t no Chrismas Elf,’ I mumbled to myself, looking down at my feet. I could’ve said it louder, but I was sucking marshmallow outta my teeth or whatever.
~
I’d downed the whole mug of cocoa before The Fat Man finally decided to grace me wit his presence. It tasted really good, but I think there must’ve been some magic in it too because after I drank it I suddenly felt a lot less sad about bein’ abandoned by my parents in the middle of the freakin’ Artic. Little did I know that feelin’ wouldn’t last for very long.
I was practicin’ holdin’ the peppermint stick between my teeth like I’d seen Ed do with his cigars when I heard him comin’. Big clompin’ foot steps and more god damn jingle bells. He had ‘em on his boots, on his belt and even on that stupid hat of his. I wonder if Mrs. C used ‘em to keep track of him in the house like a dog. I pictured him down on all fours, his belly draggin’ on the ground and had a good chuckle to myself as he knelt down my by side.
“Glad to see your settling in, uh what was it? Timmy?”
“The name’s Tommy, sir.” I said, offerin’ a proud chin tilt in his general direction.
“Oh, ho! ho! ho! Please, call me Santa. As for your name, Tommy - it’s a fine one. But we might want to think of something new to help you fit in a bit better around here. Think of it as a nickname. Come, let me take you to meet your new brothers and sisters and we’ll think it over on the walk.”
Uh...who the hell did this guy think he was?
I definitely didn’t need any Christmas Elves as family, and I’d been Tommy for all ten years of my life. Sure, my parents had left me here, but what of it? They left me alone most days in Vegas anyway while they were workin’ the tables. I was a big kid, and I didn’t need nobody.
“I saaaaiiiiddd the name’s TOMMY!” I stood up from the chair, wrapped the blanket around me like a cape and planted my legs firmly on the ground. I crossed my arms in front of my chest to let him know I wouldn’t be takin’ his bull, but he just crinkled his nose and smiled that shit-eating grin of his I’d later come to know so well.
“Did you know that Elves can be on the naughty list too? Ho! ho! ho!” He asked, laughin’ right in my face.
The disrespect! I couldn’t believe it. And then he just left me standin’ there as he waddled along the hallway. So, at first, I didn’t move. But as he got about halfway down, he turned and yelled at me so loud I swear it shook the fireplace bricks and his eyes glowed bright red. “Come along now, young one!”
I snorted and shoved my hands hard into the front pocket of my hoodie before followin’ his jinglin’ ass. I wasn’t scared, mind you. I only went wit him because he smelled like gingerbread and I was hungry, alright?
~
When we got to where the toys were made, I was amazed. Of course I was, I was ten - I’m not a monster! I liked toys as much as the next kid, and I’d never seen this many in one place before. I’m talkin’ floor to ceilin’ shelves of firetrucks and teddy bears and robots and red wagons. You name it, it was there. I myself felt immediately drawn to a particular gold model car that made Ed and Louise’s IROC look like a garbage truck. But just as I reached for it, I felt somethin’ furry smack me upside the head, and it knocked me to the floor.
“Get it off me! Get it off me!” I screamed and swiped at my face. Then whatever it was scurried down my chest and stayed there, sort of vibratin’ against me like a purrin’ pussy cat. Terrified, I peeked out of one eye to see a Christmas Elf staring back at me wit a smile more crazed than I’d ever seen before - and that’s including the all the high rollers I’d watched win the jackpot over the years. I tried to ease myself onto my elbows and sit up when suddenly, in the distance, I heard a rumblin’ like an earthquake. The sound kept gettin’ louder and louder until I saw wave of green fuzz rollin’ past the toy shelves and headed straight for me.
“BROTHER!” They yelled in unison, their voices soundin’ like they’d just sucked all the helium tanks at Party City dry as a bone. They pinned me to the ground with their sticky little hands covered in peppermint candy bits and drool.
“What the he...” I panted, but before I could finish my sentence, those grubbly little hands were covering my mouth and the smell of mint became so strong it burned my eye balls.
“NooOoOoOoo! Naughty! Naughty!” They yelled.
Turns out Christmas Elves are little psychos.
~
“Ho! Ho! Ho! Okay little ones, give your new brother some room. He’s going to be helping out around here from now on and we need to give him a name with a little more Christmas cheer. What do you all think?”
At this, the rabbid little green guys somersaulted and tumbled their way off me and formed a circle between The Fat Man and I before cheering, “Hooray! New name! New name! New name!”
I wiped the candy goo off my face and spit a few tufts of green fur from my mouth.
“Now listen here, aint nobody givin’ me a new name. I’m Tommy Piccoli and I’m a Golden Elf. I’m not one of you little gremlins!”
“OOOooOooO NAUGHTY! NAUGHTY!” They roared, while The Fat Man continued on.
“Now Tommy, that’s no way to talk to your new family. Boys and girls, why don’t you give Santa some name ideas?”
So they started rattlin ’em off as fast as they could.
“Mittens!”
“Sleigh bell!”
“Mistletoe!”
“Snowflake #5!
And at every suggestion, The Fat Man was absolutely tickled.
“Oh, ho! ho! ho! What great imaginations you have little ones! You’ve really got me in the Christmas spirit now. With your help, I think my heart now knows the perfect name. From this day forward, you will no longer be Tommy Piccoli of Las Vegas, Nevada. You will be Tinkles the Christmas Elf of the North Pole! Ho! Ho! Ho!”
The Elves all cheered. “Tinkles! Tinkles! Tinkles!” while The Fat Man knelt down and put his hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t worry Tinkles,” he told me. “You’ll be very happy here.”
And that’s when I looked him dead in the eye and bit his crusty old sausage fingers as hard as I could.
~
For the next eight years of my life, I was a prisoner, no - a slave - to Christmas. Every wakin’ moment we were buildin’ toys and checkin’ the list for The Fat Man, makin’ sure that the nice points kids wracked up matched the level of gifts they were gettin’. And it turned out even the naughty kids didn’t get passed up for presents. They just got kinda disappointin’ ones - nothin’ as bad as coal, but more like plain socks and pencils for school. Ya know, practical stuff instead of magical kid things. Then, after a year or two of gettin’ those kinds of presents, they almost always shifted to the non-believer list, meanin’ no more gifts from The Fat Man at all.
As for me and the Christmas Elves, we got a whole bunch of nothin’ every year! The kicker was that the green guys were all fine and dandy wit this because it is literally in their DNA to live off ‘the joy of givin’ (and sugar). Meanwhile, the most I got was Mrs. C. sneakin’ me a toy or two that didn’t come together quite right - like a jack-in-the-box that popped off a good five minutes after it was meant to (terrifyin’) or only one walkie talkie wit nobody at the other end. If you ask me, all of this seemed like a serious violation of child labor laws, even if we weren’t technically human.
That’s why on my 18th birthday, when the magic of the workshop could no longer hold me in that frozen hellhole, I made my escape and haven’t looked back in twenty years.
That is, until today.
~
This mornin’, I turned on the TV to see a news story about how Amazon’s due for another year of record profits this holiday season. I was busy picturin’ Jeff Bezos swimmin’ through his vault of gold coins like Scrooge McDuck when the blonde lady anchor actually said somethin’ that grabbed my attention.
“With Amazon delivering at lightning speed before Christmas, one has to wonder, can Santa handle the competition?”
Cue that Grinch lightbulb poppin’ over the top of my head. Sure, she mighta meant it as a joke, but what if she was onto somethin’? There were more and more non-believers by the day, and they had enourmous warehouses filled wit state-of-the-art tech all over the place, making The Fat Man’s operation nearly obsolete. So what if all that was needed to hammer the final nail in the coffin was one Tommy Never Tinkles Piccoli? Bada bing - that’s what I call poetic justice, baby.
And as luck would have it, I was gonna be able to kill’ two very deservin’ birds wit one stone, as Ed and Louise happened to e-mail me outta the blue just last week. They heard I’d been really cleaning up these past couple years at the regular Vegas poker tournaments. Ya see, I’d had a lot of time to play the Christmas Elves for candy canes over those years, and though they weren’t the brightest bunch, practice was practice. And I guess it did make me pretty perfect - so much so that these two deadbeats suddenly decided they wanted to see their ol’ sonny again. Of course, they assured me that their uncanny timin’ had nothin’ to do with the fact that I was runnin’ flush while their two-bit magic act was headed straight into the toilet:
“Dear Tommy,
Our sincerest apologies for not gettin’ in touch sooner. We was just doin’ what we thought best all those years ago - as much as it tore both our hearts in two - and we hadn’t quite figured out how to do the email until just recently. Then we saw your address listed in one of those online poker magazines and knew it was a sign. We just had to see our baby boy again!
It just so happens that we’ve gotten an unexpected vacation from our lucrative and very well-respected Canadian magic act, and we thought we might use this time to visit you in our old stompin’ grounds. How’s that sound? Please let us know if we can drop by next week.
Love Always,
Mommy and Daddy
P.S. We don’t need no fancy hotel. We’re perfectly happy sleepin’ in your bed if you wanna just take the couch.
Now, if they were gonna come and freeload on me, apologizin’ for not sending an email as opposed to, oh I dunno, being the WORST PARENTS OF ALL TIME, then of course I was gonna use the situation to my advantage. So I replied:
″Hello Ed and Louise,
I would be happy to welcome you into my home - no hard feelins’ at all. In fact, I would also love to cut you in on a particularly juicy deal that I am certain will be of interest to you. Please pack some warm clothes, as they really pump up the AC where we’ll be goin’ to make the magic happen.
Your son,
Tommy
P.S. You’re about to see more green than you’ve ever have in your entire life.”
~
When Ed and Louise arrived the followin’ Monday, I swear that the Nevada sun was shinin’ brighter than I’d ever seen before, and I knew it was a sign. A positively golden day for a Golden Elf like me.
They uncermoniously tossed their bags on the floor as soon as they came through the door and acted as if they’d seen me just yesterday.
“Nice place you’ve got here baby boy! I assume you got some cold ones in the fridge? Your mother and I are P-A-R parched. Be a good son and get us a little something to nibble on too, eh? It’s been a long trip.”
I thought I was gonna have to wait at least a little bit before the right opportunity came about, but they immediately gave it to me on a silver platter. I should’ve known they’d start lookin’ for handouts as they got here.
“Comin’ right up, pops.” I said, wit a smile that was meant just for me.
Once I got to the kitchen, I reached into my pocket for the zip lock baggie I had containin’ several lovely little sleepin’ pills. I cracked open their bottles of Miller High Life and plopped ‘em right in, watchin’ happily as they dissolved away before my eyes. With a little bubble and fizz, they were now virtually undetectable. I then grabbed a High Life for myself and cracked it open on the side of the counter as I’d watched Ed do all those years ago.
I presented the champagne of beers to them on a literal silver platter both as an inside joke to myself and to give the level of fanfare I knew would distract them from any slight after taste.
“To family reunions!” I said, as we clinked our bottles and cheersed. After 30 minutes, they were out cold easy.
I paid the bouncers from Caesars a nice little chunk of change to load ‘em into the back of my Escalade, no questions asked. Even if they coulda got curious, they were too busy admirin’ my newly installed 24 K gold rims to notice the various North Pole-related paraphernalia in the back - sled, ropes, parkas and one hefty bag of candy canes.
Now I know what you’re thinkin’. How exactly is Tommy Never Tinkles Piccoli gonna get from Las Vegas to the North Pole in an Escalade? Number one, I don’t seem to remember you askin’ questions at the beginnin’ of this story. Number two, may I remind you that I’m an Elf? I had plenty of magical advantages to help me along the way, but I can’t go tellin’ you every secret ingredient to my special sauce, okay? Besides, all the important stuff happened when we finally got back to The Fat Man’s.
As you may recall, I am not a monster, so I put my folks in parkas before I tied them to the sleigh and dragged them along with my sack of candy canes through the woods behind the good ol’ Christmas sweatshop. I didn’t want ‘em to freeze to death partly because I like to think I’m a better Elf than them and partly because I wanted to make sure they’d have plenty of time left to suffer for their sins later on. I know at that point it musta been a very long list including but not limited to abandoing their only child, though I’m assumin’ that definitely took the top spot.
It was a good hour before I got ‘em to the back door. I was sweatin’ like a pig, but it was worth it. I had 10 minutes to spare before 5 AM when the head Christmas Elf, Jingle Bells (of course) would unlock it to step outside for his regular swig of egg nog before the day’s work got started. Only this time, his nog was gonna be a little stronger than usual. I promptly plopped another trusty sleepin’ pill into the jug of it he kept behind the firewood. And being as tiny as he was, it only took a few minutes for him to pass right out.
After the coast was clear, I hauled Ed and Louise inside and began the tedious work of wrappin’ ‘em with the finest paper The Fat Man had to offer. I also used as much ribbon and tape as I could, just to really stick it to him. Then, wit ‘em hidden in the wrappin’ room in plain sight, I made my way to the main room of the workshop. This is where all the assemblin’ and storage of the year’s toys took place. And since there was only one more day ‘til Christmas, the shelves were stuffed to the brim with all the kids’ goodies.
I looked at my watch and saw that I had exactly 15 minutes before the Christmas Elves would make their way out of their stockins’ and down here wit us. So I jogged over to shelf number one, where all the classic toys were kept and went straight for a baseball bat. I took a deep breath and scanned the shelves for my first target before decidin’ on an ugly ass plastic doll made to look like The Fat Man himself, complete with that doofy hat of his. So I aimed for the head and knocked it - and the hat - clean off. Boy, did that feel good.
Then I unleashed on the rest of the joint.
Wooden blocks went flyin’, porcelain tea sets were shattered to bits and the fluff of teddy bears filled the air like cotton snowflakes. As I made my way to the last of the toys, I spotted it. A golden model car just like the one I’d loved all those years ago. I gave it a kiss and put it in my pocket before smashin’ the rest of that shelf to smithereens. As the Frenchies say, it was then time for the “pièce de résistance”.
I dragged my parents out among the broken remains of this year’s toys, into the center of the room, and then went back to get the candy canes. I could see and hear them beginnin’ to stir under the paper. They poked little holes through it as they shifted, and sent small clouds of glitter to the floor. Workin’ quickly, I poured the sack of the candy canes right over top of ’em. And as they plunked down on their heads, I couldn’t help but laugh at all their little groans and gripes.
“What the...
freakin...
son of a...”
And then the morning’s jingle bells rung.
As the Christmas Elves made their way to the toy room, my folks finally popped their heads out of the wrappin’ paper, though their arms and legs were still tightly secured by the magic rope I’d nicked from the reindeer’s barn before I’d went on the lamb. It was tougher than steel, so they weren’t goin’ anywhere. And they could hear the rumblin’ in the distance just as well as I could. The Christmas Elves would soon be upon ’em.
I turned and looked ‘em in the eye as they struggled to break free, not realizin’ how useless it was.
“I did promise you’d see more green than you ever had in your whole life.”
And at that, the Elves rounded the corner. Ed yelled, “You son of a...” but before he could finish, a chorus of high-pitched voices echoed across the room.
“NAUGHTY! NAUGHTY!”
I lit a cigar and flicked the match to their feet.
“My gift to you, Mom and Pop.”
As I turned to leave, the Elves descended. Spit and fur whizzed by my head as they rejoiced at their good fortune - a gift of candy canes before the day’s work had even begun. Turns out those little gremlins were good for somethin’ after all. I prayed hard that The Fat Man wouldn’t try to work ’em to the bone to save Christmas this year, because it was a lost cause. No magic in the world could help him recover all that I’d destroyed.
I hopped back into the escalade and traveled through the night, willingly listenin' to Christmas carols for the first time since I was 18. When I got home, that warm Nevada sun was risin’ once again. I pulled on my finest silk pajamas and curled in bed wit my laptop. After just a few short clicks, I’d invested the rest of my life savings into Amazon stocks.
It sure as shit was gonna be a Merry Christmas after all.