LETTERS FROM KRAMPUS: the Third Letter from Keepers

Dear Keepers,

I feel extraordinarily lucky to be your finder. I really do.

How can I quickly and easily describe the glee I felt in reading your letter? I chortled from the very first line; how delicious, the indignant tone, the staggering self-absorption, the so much missing of the entire freaking point (of Christmas or of life in general).

Is it rare to find this level of entitlement and total dearth of empathy in one so young? Sadly, no, but I feel a wave of adrenalin and gratitude sweep over me as body memory cues my thrashing and sacking muscles to tense and release in jubilant expectation.

Obviously, your parents have some kind of inbred gall to even suggest you donate toys you haven't played with in years to those who have and will receive none. The nerve of those cretins to pillage your hoard and remove a couple of coins from the golden pile of their baby dragon. If the have nots were fated for better, they'd have; am I right?

The thing is, you're only one note in the symphony of life - a squeaky, miserable little off-key scratch banking on your own devices; we need others to make our life's music rich and harmonious. You may find, when your schemes fail, fall apart, get hulksmashed by the actions and disregard of others, that it would save you to get a helping hand and be able to lean on someone's generosity to try again. But here we are, laying down your future path of miserly loneliness and rejection brick by sadly predictable brick.

There's one thing you'll get this year in addition to all of those boxes under the tree: a spin in the sack. The sack is the great equalizer - everybody in there deserves to be at that level, irregardless of personal situation. Maybe you'll make a screaming, crying new friend.

I know. I'm a giver.

Krampus