Rudolph, You Rock. Now Wise Up, Reindeer!

Okay, Rudolph, you’ve gone down in history with that song of yours. And for what? Selling out! So you were born with a shiny red schnoz and had the misfortune of living in a polar ice cap with no access to a plastic surgeon or electrician. And all those big-antlered reindeer jocks and their patent-leather-hoofed cheerleader girlfriends called you names and shunned you because of it. I know, I know…it hurts to be the last one picked for the volleyball team. Bullying sucks. But, Rudolph, you copped out and allowed those conformist reindeer snobs to welcome you into their clique only after you bailed Santa’s ass out of trouble. Man, you should have had more self-respect than that!

That 1,000-watt snout of yours was a real gift. How lucky you were to be able to read books under the covers without a flashlight! As a horny teen deer, you could have experienced paradise without a dashboard light. Heck, you probably could have lit a joint with that shiner. These are all talents that I find much more desirable than being able to guide a sleigh driven by a hairy, 300-pound butterball with bad fashion sense. You should have left the Claus in the lurch on that foggy night. That hack Blitzen could have strapped on a floodlight or two and managed to schlepp the old man as far as Ottowa, at least.

I cringe every time I hear the line, then all the reindeer loved him. One minute they’re sticking “kick me” signs on your tail, and the next they’re fighting over who gets to stand next to you at the feeding trough? Get real. Rudolph, they only wanted to hang with you because you got that one lucky break with the big man. Those parasites were too shallow to appreciate you for your uniqueness. I only wish you would have had the guts to say, “Bugger off, you hypocrites. Love me for who I am, or don’t love me at all.”

This little song of yours sprang from a story written in 1939 by Robert L. May, a copywriter for the Montgomery Ward department stores. May claims to have based your story on his own experience as a scrawny, taunted misfit. A few years later, May’s brother-in-law Johnny Marks turned the tale into a song, which was made famous by that crooning cowboy Gene Autry in 1949. It remains one of the biggest-selling Christmas tunes of all time. Rudy, those capitalist bums made a fortune off you!

Well, all I can say is this: When I win the Norman Mailer Prize for my memoir, as my dreamboat Keith Richards did, and those nasty high school girls who once ignored me come bowing down at my feet muttering, “I’m not worthy,” I’m gonna say, “Damn right you’re not! Now piss off.”

Now, if you absolutely have to watch a Rudolph video, I recommend this one: