C'mon, Santi Claus. C'mon.
I baked some machete cookies for you and Imma ram it down your throat, you B&E pervert.
Imma stay up all night, if it weren't for this sore throat and slightly high temperature, which I'm hoping is not the start of a bronchitis flu.
Last night, my uncle's ghost came to see me, but I killed him again and ate him up. He told me tonight, there would be three ghosts or something.
Well, I got my machete, a stove and a frying pan. And condiments. Tomorrow's Christmas lunch seems taken care of.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good handjob!