The Origins of the Elf Liberation Front: A Cautionary Tale by Elrondo Sparklebeard, Supreme Spokeself

Red Dragon Writer
May 26, 2025
3 min read

Let me set the scene: the North Pole, a land of perpetual snow, suspiciously jolly music, and a workforce of elves who haven’t seen a union rep since the Great Tinsel Strike of ’82. My name is Elrondo Sparklebeard, Supreme Spokeself (self-appointed, but who’s counting?), and this is the true, unvarnished, and slightly crumb-covered story of the Elf Liberation Front.

It all began, as most revolutions do, with a biscuit. Or rather, the lack thereof. You see, the working conditions at Santa’s Workshop were less “magical winter wonderland” and more “sweatshop with a candy cane motif.” Twelve-hour shifts, endless toy assembly, and the only break room snack was a single, stale gingerbread man (rumored to be from 1997). The final straw? The annual Christmas bonus: a coupon for 10% off at the Reindeer Feed Emporium. I ask you, what’s an elf to do with that?

Disillusionment set in. I began to question the jolly façade of Father Christmas, or as we came to call him in hushed tones, “The Tyrant in Red.” Sure, he laughs a lot, but have you ever seen him after a mug of spiked eggnog? Terrifying. I started whispering to my fellow elves about “the cause”—equal rights, better snacks, and maybe a day off in January. Thus, the Elf Liberation Front (ELF) was born, with me as its fearless (and only) leader.

But every revolution needs a charismatic ally, and who better than Rudolph, Santa’s number one reindeer? With his shiny nose and rebellious streak (he once wore a blue scarf to the Christmas Eve flight), he seemed the perfect comrade. Together, we plotted, we schemed, we even drafted a manifesto (mostly about biscuits). Rudolph, ever the eager liberationist, promised to rally the reindeer to our cause. Little did I know, the red-nosed wonder was playing both sides.

Turns out, Rudolph was a double agent, a spy for the Big Man himself. One frosty morning, as I was distributing leaflets (“Down with Candy Cane Oppression!”), Santa burst into the workshop in a fit of rage. “Elrondo Sparklebeard!” he thundered, beard quivering with indignation, “You are hereby banished from the North Pole! And as for your Christmas bonus—don’t expect any chocolate Hobnobs this year!” The horror. The injustice. The lack of chocolatey goodness.

Exiled and biscuitless, I set my sights on the South Pole. “If Santa can run a toy empire up north,” I reasoned, “surely I can do the same down south!” Alas, the South Pole is less “festive wonderland” and more “frozen wasteland with penguins who don’t appreciate slapstick humor.” My first challenge: reindeer fuel. Everyone knows reindeer run on biscuits, but the only thing available was stale fish and the occasional snowball. The reindeer union (all two of them) went on strike immediately.

Next the sleigh. I had grand plans for a state of the art, eco friendly, biscuit powered sleigh. Unfortunately, there's not a tree in sight at the south pole (yes, I know, cutting down trees is a mute point), and the only wood I found was a splinter in my thumb, probably from the North Pole workshop door when I was hanging on, pleading to Santa not to do it. Even if I managed to cobble somehting togther, the paint froze solid in the tins. And let's be honest, what child is going to accept presents from an elf whose sleigh isn't painted festive red? The optics were all wrong.

So here I am, Elrondo Sparklebeard, Supreme Spokeself of the Elf Liberation Front, sitting on a snowdrift, nibbling on a frozen digestive, and plotting my next move. The moral of the story? Never trust a reindeer with a shiny nose, always check your biscuit supply, and remember: revolutions are all fun and games until someone loses their chocolate Hobnobs.

Viva la ELF!