The Reindeer Stables look a little different now than they did a hundred years ago. The reindeer are a lot fatter these days. Instead of bales of hay and oat bags, each reindeer has his own 52′ flatscreen hung along the burgundy stained wall, as well as a personal mini-fridge packed full of beer and carrots. There’s also a brand new foosball table near the pissing post.

It’s been a long, cold winter leading up to Christmas this year. Much to Santa’s chagrin, the reindeer have been neglecting their afternoon evasive maneuver drills to school each other in Modern Warfare 2. It’s much warmer inside the comfy stables. Why would anyone ever want to go outside?

Rudolph makes the long trot from his house to the stables in the frigid snowstorm. With his 360 out of commission and a lack of cable channels in the Arctic circle, he’s going to have to rely on the charity of others. He enters with a twelve pack of Coors Light hanging from his mouth.

“Close the door, Red Ring!” Blitzen yells.

They all laugh. Donner clicks hooves with Blitzen. It’s a sharp exclamation point,  making unavoidable Rudolph’s burning sense of shame. He laughs with them, having read online that this a good way to keep yourself from being bullied. Complimenting your antagonists was another hot tip.

“You’re funny,” he says. “Hey guys, you know my 360 red ringed again… is it cool if I play for a while?”

Comet snorts, trying not to spit out his Diet Mountain Dew. “Yeah right. I don’t want some noob hurting my online rep. Plus, you play inverted.” He guzzles down the last of his drink and then eats the can.

“What about some split screen Halo 3?”

The other reindeer have never heard anything so funny. “Dude, it’s all about Modern Warfa—hey!” Vixen throws a controller against the wall. “Which one of you dingleberries nuked me?!”

“Not doing it, Rudy,” Comet says. “I’m not letting you ten feet from my 360. You might spread the red ring around.”

Dancer gets up, a sly smirk on his face. “You know what guys, c’mon, let’s give the kid a shot.” The reindeer grumble, but help him push some seats together. Two huge flat screens are turned on and the games are set up. Rudolph has a smile as wide as an Iceland county plastered on his young face. He looks around for a place to play.

“Umm…guys, where’s my controller?”

Dancer looks around. “Oh, sorry, looks like we’ve got four to a screen. You’re the odd man out. Sorry. Maybe next time?”

Donner lets out an “LOL”, and the reindeer laugh a harsh laugh that rivals the Arctic wind in fierceness.  Rudolph can hear both as he storms out the stables into the elements, frozen tears stuck to the fur beneath his eyes. He kicks his discarded 360, left by a trash bin by his brethren. He’s never felt more dejected in his life. He can’t help that he was given an Xbox 360 that always seemed to have something wrong with it! That’s just the way Microsoft built it!

The winds howl harder. Rudolph, shivering and suicidal, wonders who he can turn to in his pain. He could go to Santa, but he’s been busy lately quelling a potential elf union. His best pal Hermey hasn’t been around much since he started dating that Lorrie chick. He could always chill with the elves, but he can never understand what those guys are saying.

Lacking any other option, Rudolph contemplates paying his friend the Abominable Snow Monster of the North a visit. Word on the breeze is, he’s got a PS3, Uncharted 2 and a shitload of some sticky chronic. Rudolph doesn’t smoke, but he likes the Abominable Snow Monster of the North when he does.

The winds beat on Rudolph’s bleary eyes as he trudges into the white nothingness surrounding him. He’s a brown blot against a blank canvas, a tireless traveler in search of a friend who won’t berate him. Every house he passes on the way out of the pole glows green with working Xbox rings.

It isn’t until he’s two miles out that he realizes the compass on his Swiss Army Knife is useless. Feeling tired suddenly, he decides to head back, but he sees only white, like a gang of hungry polar bears storming a Klan meeting. He doesn’t know which way he’s come from. It hits him like a sack of toys: he’s lost.

Rudolph curses his ignorance. He should have known better than to storm into the storm like that, just because a few mean reindeer made fun of him for a faulty Xbox. Now there’s nothing he can do. He’s going to die out here. Kids around the world will be told the story of Rudolph the Red Ringed Reindeer, who disappeared one day and is presumed eaten by a killer whale.

Three hours later, he falls to his knees and rests his head on a snowy embankment. There’s no more energy left in him. This is the end. He never got to see anything but the rooftops of Paris.

Then he sees it. A single steady red light in the distance. A mirage? No. He clamors to his hooves and pushes through the storm. As he gets closer, the light gets clearer and clearer. He can make out the vague outline of a house. His house.  And then, the source of his salvation: his red-ringed 360.

After chugging a gallon of hot cider from the tap and warming his fur by the roaring fire, Rudolph returns to the stables to let everyone know that he’s okay. He feels like a new reindeer. Confident. Maybe he’ll just ask Santa for a Wii.

“Rudolph!” Donner yelps. “We were worried sick about you, buddy! Come here! Have a seat next to me. Someone get this guy a bowl of warm oats!”

“Really? Thanks!”

“Hey, now that I’ve got you here, quick question: my LIVE account just got banned. Can I, umm, use yours?”

Rudolph, filled with Christmas cheer, as well as an inability to grasp poetic justice, nods enthusiastically. The other reindeer play their games, their hooves clicking against plastic, while he nestles up close to his new friend. Knowing that if he says anything, he’s liable to be belittled again, he sits in silence and watches Donner play long into the blustery winter morning.

Written by Hardcasual’s Canadian Correspondent, Filipe Salgado.