The stockings were hung with care that's true but old Saint Nick was going to be confused. No tree, no cookies, no dashing up the flue. He's just going to look around and somewhat be slightly amused.
Oh my! Where's Dasher, where's Dancer, where's Prancer and Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen?
No longer slightly, not even amused at all, he reaches into his fluffy red jacket, retrieves his phone for a call, calls himself an Uber, he's had enough, enough of it all.
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