Christmas Eve

It's that wonderful time of year when jolly ol' St Nick comes marauding through the countryside in his sleigh with the tiny henchmen tagging along ready to back the fat man up in case trouble starts. Well, this year, we're ready for him. We're tired of the damage to the chimneys, the roof shingles ripped off by his sleigh tracks, having to pay him off with the milk and cookies and then all of the incessant noise that comes in the morning when we'd rather be sleeping. I've got the radar set up and Mort has the truck parked out back with a blast wall set up so we don't burn the fence. The fat guy runs around in a red suit, eh? He must be a communist then. We'll be out with a six pack waiting to wish him a Merry Christmas.