Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer

Rudolph IV inherited his great-grandfather’s name and his stop-light red nose, but he never knew the shame. No, he played any goddamned reindeer games he wanted to.

Often dressed like a lumberjack.

With thick, black horn-rimmed glasses he didn’t need.

Instagramming selfies of himself with every hot young doe at the Pole, promising to text them all but never making good on his word.

How many generations does it take to tarnish a legacy?

“At least one more,” he tells me. “So, chillax, Gramps.”

These kids today.

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