Bad Holiday Prose

“It was a dark winter night at the North Pole. I was after a poacher with a big-bore gun and a taste for venison. Naughty or nice, it doesn't matter to me -- a criminal is a criminal, and it's my job to bring them in. The name is Boxie, and I'm the senior elf in homicide division.”

“Still woozy, Dasher landed in a dark alley in Amsterdam with 20 bucks and a need for a shoulder to cry on. The memory of that night would elude him until that fateful day when his past arrived at the stable door: "Hi, Dad. My name's Rudolph."”