To the grinch who visited our house Saturday night:
It may only have been a joke to you, a childish prank, or maybe you just couldn't be bothered to go to Target and buy one of your own, but when you stole the Christmas Choo-choo from our yard, you broke the heart of one little boy.
He loved that choo-choo, as you can see. He used to give it hugs and kisses, because to him its appearance in our yard signaled the beginning of Christmas.
He asked me last night if you, Mr. Grinch, would take the choo-choo back to your workshop and fix it and then bring it back to our yard. When I said no, I didn't think so, that this grinch probably wouldn't have a change of heart, he wished woodpeckers against you to come to your cave and hammer you on the head.
Because the Christmas Choo-choo is broken, you know. Some of its lights don't work, and it was held together with baling wire. I know which lights are broken, Mr. Grinchy Claus, and the color of the wire, and when I see it in your yard, you'll be spending your Christmas in the county lock-up getting ass-raped with a spoon.
So Merry fucking Christmas to you.
One Further Thought:
I'd like to take this opportunity to apologize to all those people whose own Christmas decorations I trashed as a kid, and offer my condolences for all the Halloween jack-o-lanterns I macheted or smashed in the street. A prank is a prank is a prank, and kids will be kids. They've been doing things like this since the first Neanderteen hid a chunk of fresh mammoth dung under a flaming pile of leaves in front of the neighbor's cave.
But now I wonder how many childhood illusions about the overall goodness of humanity I shattered in my samurai days.
On the other hand, if I find it intact, propped up against a tree in somebody's yard, plugged in and blinking...