I have been recently informed that your country celebrates a holiday where people drag a tree into their home and give each other gifts while drinking a liquid prepared with uncooked eggs1.
I’m not going to lie. That is very odd. Most people simply hope that they have enough rations for the winter to not starve to death in their houses. However, after being
stabbed multiple times with the worn-down corner of a book that still feels just as sharp as ever2 helpfully reminded of the holiday season that you all celebrate, I’ve decided to give all of you a gift as well. No, it isn’t wrapped in colourful paper like your gifts are, but just imagine that it is.
Here it is – coming next year, we will have January Madness! If you recall from October Madness, this means the biography shall update twice a week on Tuesday and Thursday!
Are you excited?3 I can only hope so.
Bouquin’s notes: 1) I have experienced worse “traditions.” 2) Look at me. I am a book. It is you who inflicted such wounds upon yourself. 3) I see that dead look in your eye. Do not sigh at me. You started this. The logical conclusion is to finish it.4
4But you begged me to write this story. I’ve never seen you so desperate! You were acting like a little kid…