A few weeks ago I fell victim to consumerism and bought an Elf on the Shelf, or, as I lovingly refer to it, "a creepy elf." The only reason I bought one was because I had a coupon code for it. That, and I really enjoyed looking at all the messed up things being done to elves on ElfShaming.com.
I could be that f*ed up, riiiight?
I named my elf Jeepers, as in Jeepers Creepers. He's a creepy little mofo.
One of his first acts of elfishness in my house? Christmas-ifying the dog.
Then he started being a little less cute.
Then he tried to be sweet again...and I ended up being a bit terrified for my life.
Then he tried to make up for seeming homicidal by helping me bake for my students.
Jeepers may have added extra chunks to the brownies. I didn't share this photo with my students...and everyone said how delicious they were. 0;)
I also brought Jeepers to school on Friday. He managed to seriously creep out my students.
Jeepers actually inspired me to write a holiday-themed poem to read at an open mic on Friday.
Without further adieu, I present to you an ode to Jeepers Creepers, my elf on a shelf.
An Ode to Jeepers Creepers
I’m pretty sure its eyes are watching me as I try to fall asleep.
I ordered it because I found a sale where I could own one real cheap.
It seemed like a good idea to spread the Christmas cheer,
but instead I’m now guarding my life as I drink another beer.
“Your very own Elf on a Shelf!” the label said--
I thought it was creepily cute, all decked out in red.
I ordered one to join my home
but I never thought I’d end up scared to be left alone.
You see, my little Elf friend is not cute at all.
It watches me with its beady eyes from down the hall!
I’m pretty sure it’s plotting to chop off my head,
or maybe poison me so it can watch me fall dead.
My mommy blogger friends are all a flurry, their hearts filled with delight
as they move their damn elves to different spots each and every night.
For the creepy elf is actually a spy
and lets Santa know who’s been good or bad and why.
Which brings me to the next question, which I feel is a must:
How fucked up is Santa, to give a toy elf all this trust?
What happened to knowing who’s naughty or nice?
Is Santa corrupted by this elf doll stuffed with rice?
I wonder if it’s a voodoo doll, or maybe quite possessed?
Because, pardon me mommy bloggers, but I don’t think elf manipulation is the best.
“Behave, the elf is watching! He’ll tell Santa you’re being bad!”
isn’t a phrase of any childhood memory I ever had.
But today I realized, with a sigh and relief,
that the freakin’ elf is just another sick and twisted belief.
So I took the elf to school to torture my kids real bad,
and, now I understand-- he’s just there for some fucked up fun to be had.
So meet Jeepers Creepers, my Elf on a Shelf.
He’s really just a reflection of my messed up, sick shit, self.
Be nice to him, the silly fuck,
or he’ll tattle to Santa and you’ll be out of luck.
More from parenting