The Elf on the Shelf Gets a Job With the NSA: A New Government Tradition
You know the story of the elf; that magical elf.
He sits from Thanksgiving to Christmas on his spot on your shelf.
But he has a new task. One with great clout.
So sit back and find out what this is all about.
It’s about Virginia Tech. It’s about Sandy Hook.
It’s about San Bernardino and that Batman movie kook.
It’s about the marathon bombing and multiple shooters.
It’s even about those rioters and looters.
Its about the Arizona gunman. It’s about Waco Texas.
It’s about all of the violence haunts us and vexes.
It’s about the DC sniper. It’s about Columbine.
Your family’s lives are in danger. Your kin and mine.
Domestic violence has reached its critical mass,
And the government finally got off of its fat lazy ass.
Some people are bad. They just can’t help themselves.
That’s why Uncle Sam enlisted the elves.
December twenty-sixth was a sad sad day.
The elves on the shelves had to all go away.
Christmas was over, and there’s no need for spying.
The kids are already back to pouting, bitching, and crying.
“Get lost you damn freaks,” Santa shouted with ire.
“Or I’ll throw every last one of you creepy fucks in my fire!”
Your family’s elf scurried away, scared for his small life.
He was ready to spend ten long months with his strife.
Santa didn’t pay wages when The Elf wasn’t at work,
So he had to stay with his sister in Butte like a jerk.
He slept on her couch through winter, spring, and summer.
Her husband and kids poked fun. It was really a bummer.
Then one January day, a man came to visit.
He came with an offer that was quite exquisite.
The man wore a gray shirt, a red tie, and black shoes.
The Elf went along for the trip. He had nothing to lose.
The two sat at a bar that made the Elf a little uneasy.
The clientele were lowlifes, thugs, and the sleazy.
The man in gray sat down, on the wooden bar stool.
“Hello,” he said. “My name is Agent O’Tool.”
O’Tool ordered his drink: a scotch with no ice.
The Elf asked for cold milk with gingerbread spice.
“I’ll cut to the chase,” O’Tool said with a scowl.
“This country we live in. It’s growing quite foul.”
“What do you mean?” The Elf asked, confused as can be.
He always found children as nice as sweet tea.
“Some may be rough,” he said. “And Some may be bad.
But they all deserve a chance. Every girl and each lad.”
O’Tool took a drink. “This is all about terror.
Our commander in chief has made a great error.
People cannot be trusted. No how and no way.
So we have to monitor them. Every single damn day.”
The Elf took a large swig from his tall white pint glass.
“I know what you want,” he said. “And you can kiss my red ass.”
“You still don’t understand,” O’Tool said with a start.
“You can save lives and our country. It’s falling apart.”
“It’s about all the shootings,” O’Toole did go on.
“And the bombings and riots. Our safety’s long gone.
Our enemies aren’t foreign, and it’s very well known.
The worst kind of terror is here. They call it home grown.”
“So you want me to spy?” said the red-hatted elf.
“I’ll strip away freedoms from my place on the shelf.”
O’Tool huffed again. “You’ve got us all wrong.
You’ll make a helluva an agent. Your skill is so strong.”
“You’ll be saving these people,” O’Toole continued.
“From themselves nonetheless. Our warnings are issued.
You have quite the skill set; getting about.
You move like the wind: sneaking in and back out.”
“So it’s about saving lives?” The Elf asked with misgiving.
“You must see my point. This job sounds unforgiving.
I’d sneak in the house and spy on these folks.
I’d find all their secrets, jotting pages of notes.”
“Is that not what you do?” O’Tool asked with a smile.
“Working for Santa, doing his spying all the while?”
A grim realization hit The Elf like a brick.
The NSA had stolen their ideas from Saint Nick.
“Fuck it,” The Elf said, wiping milk from his lips.
“I’ll do your damn spying and and send you your tips.”
“Excellent,” O’Tool said, getting up from his seat.
“You start tomorrow. You’ll be back on your beat.”
So your Elf will be back. His new task is set.
He’ll be watching your home, your habits, and pets.
He’ll look through your books, taking titles as reference.
He’ll even keep notes on your sexual preference.
He’ll hide in your cupboard or under your bed.
He’ll list all your friends and who you’d want dead.
He’ll read all your texts. He’ll open your mail.
He’ll pass on all of your info without fail.
So don’t jerk off to child porn or cheat on your spouse.
Don’t fuck with your taxes or keep guns in your house.
You may upset. You may be offended.
But you’ll be safe from yourselves, just as God had intended.
You may think it perverse or wrong or uncool,
But he needs to know objectively if you’ll shoot up your school.
The other info he’ll take in case that they need it.
They’ll make sure past mistakes are never repeated.
So stay good and stay pure. You’re all being watched.
There’s someone with a job that cannot be botched.
So you’ll be safe thanks to him. That masterful elf.
That government spy: The Elf on the Shelf.