It was fine at first. Someone had to do it. You are not the sort to make a fuss, so you pulled your hat down and you got on with it. But this? No. This has gone too far. You're cold. You're hungry. You're soaked to the bone from a whole night of dropping down other people's chimneys, and your boots have not been dry since the second house. There is snow in places you did not know snow could get to. And your fellow elves? Sitting in their nice little chairs in the workshop, warm as anything, hammering away at toys you are not even allowed to take a swing at! Not one of them offered! Not one of them so much as looked up when you left! So here is the new arrangement. All those presents you carried through the freezing dark, all those trees you crept up to on your hands and knees, all that goodwill nobody thanked you for. You're taking it back. Every last box. It is not popularity any more, it is dislike, and frankly you have stopped caring who sees you. You do not want a positive score. You want the lowest, meanest, most negative number you can drag out of this miserable night! Screw you, Christmas!