An Elf Story

         I’m a Celtic. That means I may have a slight anger-management problem. What you wanna do, fight about it? I live at home, the same green home I’ve lived in for the past 34 years, with my mom and her two boyfriends. I call them both Steve (short for Steven, of course). To be honest, I have no idea what either of their names really is. I have a sneaking suspicion that at least one of them is Asshole, though, because my mom calls them that a lot. Anyway, let me tell you a little about my mom and her Steve’s.
         In order to tell this story correctly, and for it to make the most sense, I will need you to close your eyes and hum the national anthem while you read. Trust me; it’s just easier that way.
         My mom raised me into adulthood with the help of her two Steves. Every Sunday since I was seven was poker night, and every Friday we watched “The Price is Right” (we drank every time Bob laughed at a joke he didn’t understand….which directly correlated to many a Friday afternoon in the emergency room with blood-alcohol poisoning). My mom was cool (Did I tell you she let me stay home from school THIS many times?), but it was her Steves that made us into what some experts would call a “dysfunctional” family. Is that even spelled right? It looks weird, with the “y” and all. There’s a reason I don’t call Steve Stevey. I’m biased against the letter Y. If you’ll believe me, I actually haven’t used the letter “y” once in this entire story. Not once.
         Steve 1 (the one with the blonde hair) was, well, a moron. He was also a bad parent. He wouldn’t let me play with knives until I was eight years old. What kind of crap is that? I’m just learning to be potty trained, and I need some damn protection from that evil monster (the big white thing). By the way, did you know that they make grown-up diapers now, too? Just throwin’ it out there. Anyway, Steve 1 would ground me for the most random things. When I was 12, he caught me looking down my mom’s blouse, so he gave me a spanking. First off, why the hell did he give me a spanking? I only learned how to do it by the way he would look down Steve 2’s blouse. Did I mention I think Steve 2 may have a few feminine qualities? More on that later. Secondly….umm…it was an accident, I swear?
         Steve 2 was, as I previously mentioned, a little on the feminine side. That was just weird. Ironically, the only way I could tell Steve 1 and Steve 2 apart was that Steve 1 was black. Oh yeah, and in a wheel chair. And he could shoot fire out of his eyes. And he could fly. And…oh, now I’m just making stuff up. Steve 2 was never there for me growing up. Whether he was away on business at Sally’s or just sleeping (usually at Sally’s), he was never there. Except for that one time, when he was. Yeah, he was there that time. But not the other times. Never when I needed him the most, like when I had a math test, or needed a witness to help me get out of traffic court. Steve 2 had a modeling career that he swore would help put me through college. I’m still waiting on that.
         Did I mention I had a pet elf? Yeah, I had an elf. How many kids can say that? Only three that I can think of. I bet you can guess what we named our elf. That’s right, we named it Steve. No, not really. Who names an elf Steve? I named it Fireball, ‘cuz that name kicks ass. Anyway, Fireball was a part of the family; just as much as the pet flower we kept by the front door, but not as much as the tarantula underneath the floorboard. Our family was touchy feely, to say the least. Fireball and I had many adventures, none of which I can remember because I was most likely drunk during them. The one I remember was the time I painted Fireball green. He didn’t like that too much. Neither did Steve 2, but his objection was more in a fashion sense. I guess elves aren’t meant to be green. I was just trying to get in touch with my Celtic heritage.
         Like I said, my family is dysfunctional, whether or not that’s the correct spelling. My mom has her two Steves, and I have my green elf. There isn’t much more to it than that. Except of course that my mom is actually my dad, Steve 1 is actually a donkey stuck in a Mexican jail, and Steve 2 is widely known for his “side” job walking in the night, whatever that is. Oh, and my elf won the Nobel Prize . . . Something about the laws of thermodynamics.
         You may now open your eyes and stop humming, and do me a favor and don’t go back and read it again. Mush.