Slapsticky slapsweet

Purse, the nice altruistic man is likely to be a figment of your imagination. Still, it is nice of you to acknowledge him, just as the legendary dugong keeps asking about you even though you are likely to be a figment of his. Nevertheless, we have but half the story, and holistically, half does not make a whole. You may reflect on that as you consume your stimulants in this sweet December rain while whales ride the A train to and from Penn Station, pursuant to the pre-agreed plan.

Metapathos is a fickle bastard, and while you can never know if Vasya's powernaps are just the thing to alter time and space, the gestalt of the ol' Geist-manifdest, as it were, will continue to beckon to you, perhaps from Jupiter, perhaps from the steppes, perhaps from Atlantic City.

I must insist that I am not your Secret Santa.