In a shocking turn of events, it’s come to my attention that Wilson, our House Elf on the Shelf, knows how to pleasure himself.
It may have been something he had already discovered on his own before he arrived. But I have a feeling that Émile, our French sailor, offered him a bump of coke and the mood was set. As you can see, Émile gets off on anorexic-thin arms and legs.
Either way, Wilson won’t ever leave the house again.
And now I have proof to use as collateral against Santa if things around here with Wilson get ugly.
Until I figure out just how to best use this photo to get what I want, I’ve submitted it to Baby Rabies’ Inappropriate Elf Contest.