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Why do I keep doing this to myself year after year? Same old same old.
Slop the reindeer—muck out the stalls. Pay the elves.
Elves.
I don’t even like elves. They smell like cabbage and their little voices gnaw at my brain like a pack of chipmunks.
Don’t even get me started on my old lady.
I should just chuck it all and move to Tulsa or something—get a condo.
And the kids—the ungrateful little twerps. All they want is a buncha cheap plastic junk made in some sweatshop somewhere. They couldn’t give two craps about handmade stuff. I blame that Disney and all those stupid comic book movies mostly.
Man—people think this is a sweet gig. Ha!
Morons.