KKhristmas is not Christmas. ’Tis not the season to be crawly, and the lowlifes and scumsuckers that loom large in this year’s features would be wise to reconsider their ways, and perhaps to crawl back into the dankness of their rocky tombs until the Season of Light has passed them by. Prophecy is always chancy, but my chips are placed squarely on the avatars of justice, and I suppose we’ll see who gets the last laugh.
Until then anybody who has the colossal gall to wish me a Merry Kkkhristmas will receive a hearty Fuck Off and Die in return, and will deserve it, too. Survival trumps four aces and an unknown piece to be named later any day, and that’s where my focus is going to be this grim festive season. Mend your ways. Selah.