your hairy bumble hide, repost with new important insights into a holiday classic

In honor of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” airing on CBS the other night — and yes, I watched — here is my repost of my live blog of Rudolph from about 5 years ago — with new thoughts added because, damn, Crackie, I learn something new each time I watch it.

— I kinda have a crush on that Burl Ives glide-y snowman. Not really an observation. More of a confession. It’s the gliding, really, just the gliding. Like the Norelco razor Santa, the most awesome Santa ever.

— I love it that when Hermie, the elf-who-would-be-a-dentist, is asked what is wrong with him, he glumly admits, “Not very happy in my work, I guess.”

— Head Elf is clearly a rageaholic. All his lines are SAID LIKE THIS!! WITH CAPITAL LETTERS AND LOTS OF EXCLAMATION POINTS!! You know, “WHY WEREN’T YOU AT ELF PRACTICE???” and nosy crap like that. Listen, Head Elf Dude, you’re basically running a toymaking sweatshop here where tiny people with giant ears are forced to make crappy handpainted wooden toys 23 hours a day. And some of these toys just end up on an obscure island in the frozen Arctic whining about what pieces of crap they are. They don’t even want to exist and yet you force people to bring them into existence. So what these tiny people do on their time away from making suicidal toys is their own damn business. And, you know what, Head Elf? Quit picking on Hermie.

— Donner, Rudolph’s dad, is an abusive ass. (Also, Mrs. Donner is a mealy-mouthed enabler.) Donner puts a black mud nose on Rudolph to cover up his hideous deformity. Rudolph can’t breathe and snuffs to him, “It’s snot bery comorble,” Donner barks (barks?) back, “There are more important things than comfort. Like SELF-RESPECT! Santa can’t object to you now!” And I, Donner, clearly accept you with open arms.

— Clarice, Rudoph’s would-be lover, wears a Minnie Mouse bow on her head in the middle of the frozen tundra. I have never understood that.

— Rudolph’s mud nose makes him sound like he’s got adenoids, but Clarice thinks he’s cute. Adenoidal Rudolph jumps for joy. “I’m cude! I’m cude! She thinks I’m cude!!”

— Uh oh. The fake nose falls off during reindeer boot camp. All the other reindeer’s eyes turn to pinholes of fear and horror. For God’s sake, you babies. You live in a place called “Christmas Town.” Have you never seen something red and shiny?

— We’ve already established that Donner’s an ass, but Santa’s an ass, too. When Rudolph’s real nose falls off, Santa says, “Donner, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!” Uhm, why? So it’s not so much Christmas Town as it is Major Debilitating Guilt Trip Town.

— I love how all the reindeer have little skinny legs and these giant clonky hooves, like manhole covers. That’s the real deformity here, critters, and you all have ’em!!

— Clarice comforts the exposed Rudolph with “There’s always tomorrow for dreams to come true.” Kinda the reindeer version of my personal favorite: “The sun’ll come out …. tomorrrrrow!!”

— Although, how this helps him with his gross and crippling deformity, I have no idea. And Clarice? There’s not “always tomorrow.” You’re a deer, right? Sometimes tomorrow is “Man has entered the forest, bang bang.” Or have you never seen “Bambi”?

— The giant banana taffy swoop in Hermie’s hair is one of my favorite things in the whole show. That, and his lisp. Oh, and btw, Hermie: You’re gay.

— I’m still kinda scared of The Abominable Snowman. Partly because he looks exactly like a particularly annoying kid I know.

— Wow. I never noticed what huge breasts Abominable has. Maybe ask Oprah what brand of bra she wears, yeti. Just a thought.

— Why does Burl Ives Snowman hold up an umbrella to protect himself from Abominable? Do those things have previously undisclosed powers? Dude, it’s a stick with a flimsy circle of fabric on the end against a huge, man-eating Yeti. I mean, come on. Abominable is actually taller than the giant cardboard mountains he calls home. So, seriously, what’s with the umbrella? Then again, eons ago, I thought hiding under a sheet would protect me from the monster in my closet at night. Then again, I was 5.

— Burl Ives Snowman croons that detestable ditty, “Silver and Gold,” whilst accompanying himself on everyone’s favorite Christmas instrument, the banjo. As the crooning continues, little woodland creatures randomly munch on golden nuggets. Weird. I never knew that song was about ingesting golden nuggets.

— Donner finally decides to go look for Rudolph, who’s run away with Hermie of the Taffy Swoop because they’re a buncha misfits, you see. Mrs. Donner wants to go too, but Donner says, “No! This is man’s work.”

— So what we’ve really got here is a Christmas classic that’s basically sexist, homophobic, and xenophobic. Just what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.

— Hey, Yukon Cornelius: If Bumble’s one weakness is that they sink, why does the Bumble sink and then pop right up to wreak more havoc and eventually have his teeth pulled by local dentist wanna-be, Hermie? Why is he still alive after sinking? I mean, that didn’t happen on the Titanic.

— Look, “Charlie-in-the-Box,” don’t be such a blubbering baby. “My name is allll wrong! No child wants to play with a Charlie-in-the-Box!” Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP! Just go down to your local courthouse and change your name to JACK! Lord. I hate that victim mentality. And trust me, Charles. The reason the kiddos don’t wanna play with you has nothing to do with your name.

— That whole Island of Misfit Toys is really just the Island of Useless Enablers. It totally pisses me off. That freaky Winged Lion King just allows all those toys to lounge around and whine and whine and sing horrible dirges to unsuspecting strangers. “Can you IMAGINE being an ELEPHANT with POLKA DOTS??” Yes. Yes, I can. I think it would be neato and you need to embrace that Jesus loves the little children AND the polka-dotted elephants. Personally, I don’t think any of you whiners is fit company for a kid. You’re all downers. It’s not that you’re “a choo-choo with square wheels” or “a bird that swims.” Those things are not the problem here. It’s that you’re all hopeless, helpless narcissists who can only think about how life impacts you. And, also, why is it up to Rudolph to tell Santa about the toys, Lion King? Why aren’t you doing something for your whiny misfit subjects? You’re a winged lion so why aren’t you flying over to Christmas Town and saying, “Hey, Santa. Take these whiny freaks offa my hands, will ya?” What kind of king are you, anyway? Do you just have the title and no real power? I mean, what are you? British?

— Rudolph is bending over to drink water from a lake. Look, I’m sorry if this offends anyone, but I can’t help but notice that he …. doesn’t have an anus. Seriously, that red nose is the least of your problems, Rudolph. You will soon become terminally clogged and septic and die. I’m just stating the medical facts here.

— Abominable is attacking Rudolph, et al, with a maniacal grin on his face. The Burl Ives Snowman hides behind his trusty umbrella. “Ooooh, telllll me when it’s over.”

— Hermie pretends to be pork in order to save Rudolph from the Bumble. Oink oink oink. Unfathomable.

— “Blast your hairy Bumble hide!” says Yukon to the Bumble. I love that line.

— Yukon just crumped it, falling off the cliff with the Bumble, and all Burl Ives Snowman says is, “They are all very sad at the loss of their friend.” Uhm, ingrates, he saved your lives. What’s your problem? You can sing no end of gloomy ditties about square wheels and stupid names, but there’s nothing, no feeling, about your friend saving you and tumbling to his death? Where is the Anthem for Lost Cornelius or something? Sick. Selfish and sick.

— Okay, well, Yukon just came back from the dead with the toothless Bumble in tow. (Hermie pulled his teeth while Bumble was unconscious, you see.) “He’s a reformed Bumble. He wants a job. Looky what he can do!” (Bumble places a star on the Christmas tree.) Hm. Where have I heard something similar? “Look! It’s her poop! Look what she did! It was inside her and now it’s here!” Beware, Yukon Cornelius, the Timothy Treadwell delusion of perceived cuddliness.

— Santa. Okay, look. You obviously have a hormonal imbalance. You were skinny yesterday and your shrew wife was nagging, “Eat, Santa. Eeeeeeat.” And now you’ve gained, like, 50 pounds overnight. Anyone who finds himself in that situation should go immediately to a doctor, not spend all night delivering choo choo trains with square wheels to all the undeserving kiddos of the world. On the other hand, Mrs. Claus clearly digs it. “Now, thaaaat’s my Santa.” So Mrs. C is a chubby chaser, which is really none of my business, now is it?

— Before the story ends, we cut back to The Island of Misfit Toys on Christmas Eve, where the whining continues apace. “Rudolph said Santa would come,” “Guess he’s not coming,” blahdie blah. The doll who appears to have absolutely nothing wrong with her except a self-pitying attitude says, “I don’t have any dreams left to dream.” The toys appear on the brink of some kind of suicide pact when shing shing shing shing shing here comes Santa, with Rudolph and his formerly despised red nose leading the way.

Halleujah! The whiners cheer, the angels rejoice, and Santa lives to exploit another day!

And Yukon exits, pursued by a bear.