No sense of humor
Dear Santa,
I get it. You’re miffed that I’m not playing, but seriously dude; check the contract. Pressies for the good kids, lump of coal for the bad ones, not a sodding kidney infection (yeah, it’s so nice to know my kidneys are all there, throbbing away). Git!
I’ve managed to control the temperature now (1000mg of paracetamol, 400mg of ibuprofen, 100mg of tramadol every 4 hours) but I’m so off my face I can’t think to work which could mean that the bank doesn’t make as much money as it otherwise might of, which means that pay rises and boni might be smaller, which means there will be less money for things like charitable giving which means you’re actually killing small children and little kittens.
I hope you’re happy.
Lots of love,
Dom
