So, you love Christmas, eh? I don’t think you do. You know who loves Christmas? 

Me. 

Your garland archway is sweet. Did you just put that up? Ok, well my garland archway has been up since March. 

March of 1998. 

You start listening to Christmas music in November, huh? 

I only ever listen to Christmas music. I played my Kelly Clarkson Christmas CD so many times that it caught fire. Do you want to know how many times is “so many times”? 

5,897.

You say you “like eggnog.” What, do you drink it, like, once a year?

I exclusively drink eggnog in December. When I was donkey number two in my town’s nativity play I had to stay on all fours for 90 minutes. I inserted an eggnog IV so I could nog and wee-snaw. 

I see you have an artificial Christmas tree. Why don’t you just rear up and kick Christmas in its tender little balls? 

Every year, I drive deep into the Black Mountains of North Carolina with two bottles of blue flavored Gatorade, a pocket full of loose cashews and an axe, and I chop down my tree. We have a hole in our roof year-round so the 18-foot tree can stand up straight in our living room. 

I don’t believe in trimming the top of the tree. You hurt the tree, you hurt Christmas. 

You go to the mall and sit on Santa’s lap? I go to the mall and sit on Santa’s face. 

Do you think this is a game? I don’t play games. Not when it comes to Christmas. 

I own a 3,000 square foot warehouse full of gifts. 

My heart beats to the rhythm of Jingle Bell Rock. Ask my doctor.

I legally changed my middle name to Claus. 

Do you know why?

Because I love Christmas. 

I am holly. 

I am jolly.

I am the one who nogs. 

You don’t love Christmas. 

I do.