On the 11th day of infant Christmas an infant gave to me a

rebirth episode from 2021 called A Very Merry Visit from Death.

A Very Merry Christmas Phil, a very Merry Christmas, filmed.

A very merry visit from death.

Truth, truth. We want the truth. Save me forever from the world blinded by fictions.

I'm sick of pilot hearing things from uptight short sight and now the minded

hypocritics all I want is the true.

Just give me some truth. Save me forever from the world blinded by fictions. Religious fictions,

Mormon fictions, political fictions, historical fictions, conspiracy fictions, we want the truth.

Cracks and breaks in the shelf be damned.

All I want is the truth. All right. Do you really want some truth? There it goes. Try this one on for size.

Feel free to return it if it's a little too snug.

The receipt is baked right into the bag.

All right, here we go.

This was the night before, the night before the night before Christmas, when all through my mind came a brief

but persistent and more than just a tad wee bit annoying little knock.

Okay, let's dispense with the rhyme.

Because what I really want to say to all the lights and trees and food and songs and every other little thing we do to decorate

the season, no matter what culture or tradition or style that we use, there really is a reason no matter how you dress it up

deep down beneath the fluff and all the wrappings it's the same for every person, persistently beating and tapping.

Who is it? I ask. Not a word did it speak. Hello? Is anybody there?

Yeah, it's there.

...