T’was the night before Christmas.
If you are Christy Anne.
If you aren’t, then you’re pissed.
That the stores ain’t op-en.
But theny-then.
You remember that your shit
Could be mistaken.
Maybe Christmas and calendars
And high priced scarce data
Aren’t as real as portrayed
With a value near nada.
Still, they fool us and
Add dict us to shit they make up.
Then they pass around the hat and
The plate and the cup.
They say here is your real,
And we eat it up.
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