A Most Cruel Conspiracy

The mind is liable to wander into queer and curious lands during this season, when the stars, petroleum barons, and bone-chilling cold conspire to produce wild speculation and utter insanity. Permit me to share but an excerpt of unalloyed wisdom painstakingly extricated from this mad sea. Note that the name of my accomplice has been obscured, lest many evils be visited upon him.

Me (2:51:39 PM): The bitterness is exquisite.

Me (2:51:46 PM): That is, of the tea that I just imbibed.

Sir Awesome the Phantasmagoric (2:51:57 PM): oh

Sir Awesome the Phantasmagoric (2:51:59 PM): i wish i had tea

Me (2:51:56 PM): Which is exquisite by extension.

Me (2:52:16 PM): Yes, for 't is merely the proper thing to wish for.

Me (2:52:29 PM): Have you ever heard of a proper, well-behaved man wishing for bread?

Me (2:52:32 PM): I think not.

Me (2:52:43 PM): But tea.

Sir Awesome the Phantasmagoric (2:52:47 PM): no no

Me (2:53:20 PM): That's on the lips of every good boy and girl come Yuletide.

Me (2:53:54 PM): Wherefore we see roving packs of urchins saying naught but "tea."

Sir Awesome the Phantasmagoric (2:54:05 PM): haha

Sir Awesome the Phantasmagoric (2:54:30 PM): the bratty upperclass youths write such excesses as "teapots" and "teacozies" on their christmas lists

Me (2:54:46 PM): Such insolence!

Sir Awesome the Phantasmagoric (2:54:56 PM): but if what the storytellers say is true

Me (2:55:00 PM): In my day, we settled for tea-holes.

Sir Awesome the Phantasmagoric (2:55:04 PM): they will receive nought but a cup of coffee

Me (2:55:19 PM): The storytellers never err.

Me (2:55:44 PM): They will receive naught but the rudest coffee come Christmas day.

Sir Awesome the Phantasmagoric (2:56:04 PM): indeed

Me (2:56:01 PM): Lo, their stockings shall overflow with the crude stuff.

Sir Awesome the Phantasmagoric (2:56:07 PM): black as coal

Sir Awesome the Phantasmagoric (2:56:10 PM): with not a drop of cream

Me (2:56:11 PM): Forsooth.

Me (2:57:17 PM): Then, come New Years, Santa shall impress them to serve on his Columbian coffee plantation, where they will endure many privations while extracting tons of the crude stuff for next year.

Me (2:57:23 PM): *Year's.

Sir Awesome the Phantasmagoric (2:57:42 PM): or so tradition says

Me (2:57:52 PM): As is the custom, yes.

Me (2:58:34 PM): The old fellow also has a cocaine factory in the jungles nearby.

Sir Awesome the Phantasmagoric (2:58:49 PM): i haven't heard this tale

Me (2:58:52 PM): It's how he pays his elves.

Me (2:59:01 PM): That is, in cocaine.

Sir Awesome the Phantasmagoric (2:59:09 PM): is that where the good unbaptised children go after dying?

Sir Awesome the Phantasmagoric (2:59:13 PM): oh

Me (2:59:12 PM): That, too.

Me (2:59:40 PM): You see, unbaptized babes manufacture the said substance deep in the jungles as punishment for their sin.

Sir Awesome the Phantasmagoric (2:59:56 PM): aha

Me (3:00:05 PM): The grim produce of their labors then fund a system of cruel exploitation.

Me (3:00:28 PM): *then funds.

Me (3:00:36 PM): But yes, the whole affair is terribly sordid.

Me (3:01:42 PM): Oh, and let's not forget the whole "letters to Santa" business.

Me (3:02:18 PM): You see, Santa thrives off of consumer spending and paper consumption, without either of which he would surely perish.

Me (3:02:42 PM): I forgot.

Me (3:02:59 PM): He is also sustained by the hopes and fears of children worldwide.

Me (3:03:29 PM): Hope that they will receive tea, and fear of coffee and being Shanghai-ed into working at his coffee plantation.

Sir Awesome the Phantasmagoric (3:03:58 PM): i will return, one smoothie richer, for it is all i am capable of eating in this present state which the gods have subjected me to

Me (3:04:05 PM): Godspeed, sir

As you can evidence for yourself, I've gone categorically insane.