Hermey The Elf Dies in Bar Fight

(Here is another installment from my series TV Character Obituaries.)

SAN FRANCISCO, CA — Yesterday Hermey the Elf died in the arms, or hooves, of long-time companion, Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer. The death was the result of a bar fight that started with a patron commenting on Hermey’s flaring hair curl, which used to be a shining gold but had in recent years gone gray and now needed the help of some heavy duty hair spray to stay in place. That led Hermey, a dentist of long standing, to tell his persecutor that, “yeah, well, you have over-sized central incisors. You sure your real name isn’t Bugs Bunny?” This touched a periodontal nerve in the other patron, being that he had worn braces into his early forties at a time when all his gay friends had perfect teeth that were bleached on a regular basis. He called both Hermey and Rudolph a couple of misfits.

“Let’s face it,” said the patron, jumping off his barstool, “you two were misfits a long time ago in the North Pole, when you, Hermey, couldn’t build a toy to save the life of a kid with cancer, and you, Rudolph, weren’t allowed to play in any reindeer games — and you’re still a couple of misfits.”

Then he motioned for the bartender and a guy seated by the window to grab their musical instruments, which just happened to appear out of the ether, and play while he did lead vocals. Everyone in the bar tapped their feet, as he sang, “Why am I such a misfit?…”

Only the song was cut short when Rudolph rammed his antler rack into the singer’s chest, with the singer falling on top of a pool table. Rudolph was seeing red…from his now glowing nose.

“That song is our song, you bastard. Only my Hermey and I can sing that song.”

“That’s right,” said Hermey, approaching the scene carrying the same dental instrument he had used to de-fang the Abominable Snow Monster. He raised the thongs with menacing intent. “Say hello to my little friend.”

The patron’s eyes narrowed in anger. He said: “Twenty years in the prime of my life wearing braces and now you’re going to yank out my ruler-straight teeth? I don’t think so, you elf bastard. And you’re not even that good looking.”

The patron reached for a billiard ball and brought it down on Hermey’s head. The former toy-maker who had been allowed to open up his own dental practice in Christmastown without ever having taken a single college course, much less eighth grade math and science, was dead before he hit the floor.

Rudolph was too stunned to reapply his antlers to the killer of his fellow misfit.

Hermey was his oldest friend. They had gone through that whole youthful adventure with Yukon Cornelius and Charlie-in-the-box that had culminated with them saving Christmas. Afterward, Rudolph had married Clarice, while Hermey was wedded to that cute girl elf he had danced with to “A Jolly, Jolly Christmas.” For years they went about their business, with Rudolph leading the reindeer team every December 24^th and Hermey practicing medieval dentistry, and both raising families.

But all the while they stole longing glances at each other over the wind-swept central square of Christmastown. Then the day came when the kids were all gone from the house either at college or working as pins that could reset themselves in a bowling alley. The wives, Clarice and Mrs. Hermey, began to compare bedroom notes. They realized that neither of their husbands had performed their marital duties in seven years. The ladies concluded that this was Brokeback Mountain with a little bestiality thrown in for the tabloids. Rudolph and Hermey saw the sensational writing on the wall. They apologized to their wives, each saying that “it’s not you, it’s me,” and the next day loaded up a ’69 Impala and moved to San Francisco.

Now Rudolph rested Hermey’s deceased head on his lap, smoothed over the flaring lock of graying hair and began to sing in a mournful tone, “Why are we such a couple of misfits?”

(Check out my website: http://www.authorjamesfjohnson.com)

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