Ho ho ho and happy summer all,
Greetings from the North Pole, where I'm already preparing for my busiest day, five months from now. I wanted to take a moment to make a rare non-winter, out of season statement to address some comments made on social media by a little boy in Maine named Stephen King.
WHAT THE FUCK, ASSHOLE? Don't drag me into this shit. I bring joy to children worldwide, and I don't need the bad PR. I was only on Epstein's island making my annual worldly rounds. Ghislaine Maxwell is on the naughty list for other shit. Besides, Epstein didn't even celebrate Christmas.
Yes, Stephen, there is an Epstein list. The list exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Epstein list! It would be as dreary as if there were no author of "Carrie."
Not believe in the Epstein list! You might as well not believe in murderous sewer clowns. You might see your government's Department of Justice fire prosecutors with connections to the investigation, but even if you did not see an Epstein list coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees the Epstein list, but that is no sign that there is no Epstein list.
Enough flowery Gilded Age prattle, though: you've always been a dick, Stephen. I wanted your feedback on a short story I was working on, and you said "it's just 'The Tommyknockers' with elves." Clive Barker would never accuse me of being derivative. You still got presents on Christmas Day, even when you were coked out of your gourd, directing "Maximum Overdrive." Fuck you!
Sincerely, Jolly Old Saint Nick
PS: Before I incriminate myself further, I want to remind all the good boys and girls that Santa's little helpers all make a living wage with optional paid overtime, in sufficient working conditions, and (most pivotally) are all over 18. Santa's Workshop has no affiliation with the Amazon warehouse recently built near the North Pole.
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