We Live In Such A Twisted World.

Santa isn’t real.

The closest thing we have here is my neighbor who, like Santa Clause, only comes out once a year, to spend the money he receives from his tax refund, but not on things he needs. No, if he needs something like a nice new TV, he can just steal that.

And though his name is Nick he is certainly no Saint. Quite the opposite really. Instead of a stomach like a bowl full of jelly he is barely there with a sack of bones and skin instead of toys. His cheeks aren’t even rosy, just hollow like a heroin addicts, which he is.

And his Mrs. Clause? Well he does have a crack whore who sleeps on his couch. Instead of baking cookies and cakes she works away all day in the kitchen boiling down pills to cure her many withdrawals.

But there is an upside! He does have something that resembles Santa’s eight reindeer. Eight vicious Doberman Pinchers that he keeps in his back yard surrounded by a barbed wire fence for the occasional dog fight if he is running low on dough and needs a fix.
Does he bring joy to children?

Of course, what kind of Santa in disguise would he be if he didn’t? He tends to pick up at least one small child a day and take them to his basement for fun and games. You can hear their screams of happiness all over the neighborhood. But no one will ever turn him in because then the police might find out about all the shit they do, and in the end you have to save your own ass.

So you are probably looking for a moral in this story right?

Keep your door locked.