Please Don't Make Me Do It. It's Christmas.Maybe it’s just strange coincidence. You know the kind I’m talking about… two strangers meet on a long train ride; they talk, laugh, share secrets over a meal in the dining car, and then one murders the other. Happens all the time.
Or perhaps the conspiracy theorists were right all along and there really are cameras everywhere, so you know that exact moment when I step from the shower dripping wet. (Do you think the mole on the back of my shoulder has gotten bigger? I can’t decide.)
I suppose it could be all in my mind… that I’m hearing things that aren’t really there. If so, accept my apologies in advance even though, legally speaking, I’m innocent. “Your Honor, he’s obviously at least two beers short of a six-pack and can’t be held accountable for his actions.”
But in the end, I guess the “how" and “why” are unimportant, because the simple fact is… if you play that Alvin and the Chipmunks “Christmas Song” one more time, I’m going to burn your house down.
So please, Mister Morning DJ… don’t make me do it. It’s Christmas.