Christmas movies are supposed to be heartwarming parables that entertain us while simultaneously teaching us the invaluable tenet of selflessness. Christmas is not about presents, the Grinch teaches us, it's about being together. Christmas is not a time for selfishness, A Christmas Carol teaches us, it is a time to set right past wrongs. Christmas is not meaningless, A Charlie Brown Christmas teaches us, it is a day to reflect on the life of Jesus and be thankful we were not born hydrocephalic. But one Christmas movie doesn't want to teach you kindness or charity, or any of that crap; it only wants to teach you spite and how to commit hate crimes. It's called Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, and here's what it wants you to learn:

Lesson #4 Santa Claus Does Exist, and He is Sick of Your Crap.

All of Santa's little elves spend the whole year working, building toys for good little boys and girls. But spot-welding dirt-bikes for needy redneck children does not leave a lot of free time for the elves, so you can imagine they cherish what little they do get. And how do they spend this priceless free time? Why, penning a lovely ode to their kindly master, Santa Claus, of course! They toil away composing and practicing, and when they're all finished, they ask Santa if he'd like to come listen to a song they wrote for him. To which he replies that he's "busy, so they better make it quick."

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O...kay.

Santa's probably just stressed. We all get stressed around the holidays. He gets a pass on that out of character rudeness. But something's still amiss here: All during the song, the conductor elf keeps turning around and shooting apprehensive looks at Santa, like he's expecting to feel the sting of a whip at any moment. It's easy to see why: All throughout the performance, Santa grows increasingly moody and unhappy, slumping in his chair and glowering at the singers.



"Yeah, great. Call me when you've learned Freebird."

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After they've finished their heartfelt ode, the elves turn to Santa and ask hopefully: "How did you like it?" To which he brusquely responds, "Well, it needs work. I have to go,' then storms out and slams the door. That's like giving your dad a drawing to put up on the fridge, only to have him criticize your sense of perspective and ability to use color to evoke emotion.

But it turns out that was Santa's version of "polite." He doesn't actually think the song needs work, nor does he think it's the thought that counts. No, he actively and passionately hates the damn thing. When he hears the elves singing it again later - like some sort of pixie spiritual to dull the pain as they slave away on his production line - Santa has the following exchange with his wife: