To us the pod before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, except

for David O'Yellow, star of come away and the midnight sky.

The stockings were hung, but the chimney with care, in hopes that Coleman Domingo,

Michael Potts and Glinturmon, stars of Marr reinees, black bottom, soon would be there.

The listeners were nestled, all snug in their beds, while fission of geek queens and nerd

grand admiral twat things danced in their heads.

And a morn in his kerchief and eye in my cap had just settled our brains for a long winter's

nap.

And out in the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the pod booth to see what was

the matter.

I waited the window, I flew like a flash.

It was James Dyer telling me to get on with it.

Get on with it.

I was waiting for you to come up with not a creature with stirring, except for yes, I was coming.

There is three assholes in the pod for the mission.

I artfully avoided the diehard reference, Jimbo.

I tried not to be a walking cliché for once my life.

Hellapod, I am Chris Hewitt and welcome to a sad, a single tear rolling down my cheek.

The last empire podcast of 2020, the hellscape of a year.

But this pod has given us something to cling onto.

Not you guys, obviously all listeners of home hate this, but it's given the three colleagues

of such leave the cunning included myself here in this pod, both today, something to

...