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Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

I want a gun for Christmas. I want a ski mask and refugee tent like all the other kids. I want canine incisors and police tape. I want a water cannon. Santa, I’ve been a good kid, ideal hostage situation with an orange hair-do. I want a new orange jumpsuit. Cocaine’s out on the console with the URL to all of my cyber babes. I want the newest iPhone diplomatic immunity. I want the upgraded writ of habeas corpus. C’mon, Santa, the tv’s on for you to slide in through and all my social media’s wide open for you to track my whereabouts witness protection. Santa, I want like all the others. I want a gun. I want a mouth piece. I want a body bag. I want how simple it all is immaculately yours.

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