The North Pole. Christmas Eve. A large group of reindeer is gathered and standing completely still in a snowy glen. Rudolph approaches, cautiously.

Rudolph: Hey guys. So, now that you all love me and everything, I was wondering if you would let me play some of your reindeer games. Could I?

Comet: Yeah, sure, pal. We’d love for you to join in.

Rudolph: Oh man, I am so excited! Seriously, you don’t know how long I’ve waited to be a part of this. This really is a dream come true for me.

Donner: Oh, we know.

Rudolph: So, uh, well, I’m ready to play! What are the reindeer games?

Vixen: We’re playing one right now.

Rudolph: You…you are? What is it called?

Blitzen: “Stand as still as possible.” I think I’m winning.

Rudolph: Oh, well, that sounds…fun? Um, what are some of the other ones you play?

Dasher: Hmm…well, this is the one we play most often, but sometimes we play this one where we put as many gingerbread men in our mouths as we can.

Rudolph: But aren’t reindeer allergic to gingerbread?

Dasher: Exactly.

Rudolph: *blank stare*

Cupid: But there are other games. Like, the one where we just stare at each other while trying to stay balanced on our right legs.

Dancer: Or there was that one year we shaved mohawks on each other!

Comet: Or when we drew straws to see who would eat those strange berries we found!

Dasher: Poor Herman.

Rudolph: Herman? I don’t remember him.

Vixen: Well, that’s because of the berries.

Rudolph: *sweating* Oh, wow. Um, so…do you ever play Duck Duck Goose, or Monopoly? Bocce Ball? I wouldn’t mind a nice game of Bocce Ball right now. Ha ha ha…..

Comet: Nope, never heard of them.

Prancer: I really like the game where we race to the iceberg, and then bury whoever finishes last in the snow.

Rudolph: How long do they stay buried?

Prancer: Well, if we remember to get them out, not very long, but sometimes we forget to, and well, in that case, we just hire a new reindeer. Not a big deal.

Dancer: Oh oh oh ! Let’s play that one right now! 3, 2, 1—

Rudolph: No, guys, wait! I don’t want t—

Dancer: GO!

Moral of the story: It is far better to be left out than get buried in a snow drift. 

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