I hate Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Not the actual reindeer, not the character Rudolph, but the whole story, the whole message behind it.
It goes something like this: Rudolph is born. Rudolph looks different. Rudolph is made to feel like a freak. Rudolph is not protected by the very people that are supposed to protect him from shit like this. Rudolph can not face the hatred and runs away. Rudolph then finds some other freaks that have been likewise ridiculed into exile. Rudolph returns home where suddenly he finds himself celebrated because the assholes that ran him out have found a use for him.
I hate this story. The other asshole reindeer never have any self discovery, like maybe they shouldn't be fucking with people that are different. No, they just realize that even a freak like Rudolph can be useful.
It ends on what seems like a high note: Rudolph is rightfully presented as a hero, and the others are all contrite.
You had better sit down Rudolph; I have some bad news for you. Next year when there isn't any fog, who do you think is going to be leading the sleigh? You? No, sorry, you are valued only as far as you are found useful. You, my friend, are still a freak. They might tolerate you for now, but you will never really be one of them. No fog? Guess what? You are going to find yourself back on the Island of Misfit Toys hanging out, crying and wishing you were normal.
My advice is this: next time the fog rolls in, you tell Santa if he wanted your help, maybe he should have watched out for you when you were being bullied into running away from the only home you have ever known. You tell Santa maybe he shouldn't have been complicit in driving you out into the frozen wastelands of the North Pole to freeze and starve to death. You tell Santa, listen you fat bearded fuck, where were you before I was useful to you? Where were you before I had to prove my value? You tell Santa that if he can't take better care of his charges, even those that are different, maybe he shouldn't be allowed to be in charge. You tell Santa, sorry, pal, you're on your own. I hope you crash into the Atlantic and drown.
Go back to the Island of Misfit Toys, Rudolph. Those other asshole deer can fly blind from now on. Those other deer can take their reindeer games and shove them up their collective reindeer asses. Find some other freaks and build a life, make up your own games, live well, and tell the normals to get fucked.
You have intrinsic value, Rudolph, regardless of what they might say. You don't have anything to prove to those shitbags. Believe that, and maybe you will find some semblance of peace.