I've got problems with Santa Claus. I just don't dig his Big Brother parameters. He knows when you are sleeping. He knows when you're awake. He knows if you've been bad or good- so be good for goodness sake. Or what?

Much like the modern welfare state, he comes in giving you a little bit of some kind of present, some welfare state crack rock, and so everyone is just pleased as punch to have this bearded freak all up in their business. Hell, between him and Jesus, a fellow can't even get privacy to play with his own ding-a-ling.

For my part, he can stick his goodies back up his chimney. He don't need to be looking in my windows or reading my mind, or whatever it is exactly that he does to get all these databases. Here's the deal: mind your own business, freak, and I'll buy my own toys. Now if I see you peaking in my bedroom window again, I'ma release the hounds.

You know that Santa is an anagram for Satan. Co-incidence?