Full Credits

Stats & Data

April 16, 2011

Poor little thing. He just wants to be part of the happy season.



Michael A. Wolf


Flunt feared that he would never be asked to go to Earth, because, although he was a Christmas angel, he looked like a sack of crap. His hair was bright yellow, and sculpted in a half-fist; his ears were too big; he had one enormous eye and one that was very squinty. And his halo, which should have floated beautifully above his peanut-shaped head, sat like a lump on top of his dome, lending credence to the rumor that his nose was hideously deformed.


“Why do I look this way?” He asked Colonel Smack, the Chief Angel. 


“How the bleep should I know, ugly?” The colonel responded. “Now, get away from me before your appearance makes me pass a stone.”


Flunt was heartbroken. He flapped his boney and grayish wings until he hovered by the Candy Cloud in Sector Seven. He liked to visit this cloud because it was near the baby souls that were being sent to fill the hollow embryos in pregnant ladies’ tum-tums. 


“They get to go to Earth.” Flunt said, with a tear in his giant eye. “Even if someone disagrees with abortion, these baby souls get to fly to infants and make everything smell like birthday cake.” And as he sat, watching the tiny essences making their way down, he wondered if he would ever be happy.


That’s when Santa Claus appeared and called his name.


“Flunt!” The jolly old elf said.


“Ham and gravy, you’re here!” The ugly angel replied in surprise. He hoped Santa wouldn’t notice that he’d peed himself.


“You peed yourself.” Santa said. Then he took a seat next to Flunt. “My word, you’re unattractive.” Father Christmas told him.


“I know.” Flunt said, sadly. “Why am I a Christmas angel when I’m so ugly?” He asked the Coca-Cola shill.

“They could have made me a foot fungus angel. I’m perfect for that.”


Santa thought for nineteen minutes before speaking, but then said, “I have no idea how things work up here. I’ve got enough trouble trying to keep the elves from killing and eating my reindeer.”


“Why did you come to see me again?” Flunt asked.


“I wanted to let you know that no matter how ugly you are; and, believe me, you are one horrendous load; you will never be allowed to join me on Earth for Christmas. Never.”


“Well, that doesn’t make me feel better.” Flunt said.


“Wasn’t supposed to.” Santa replied. Then he stood and began to walk away. But before he was out of sight, he turned and said, “Never.”


Flunt drew his knees to his chest and started to weep. Soon, his body was wracked with sobs.


An angel named Cream Cone walked by and remarked, “Did you know that you’re really ugly when you cry?”