"Shall I crack some jokes first, or maybe tell a little sad story, feigning empathy?"
You wonder how to answer that, considering the finality, stall, or don't stall, panic setting in. The crowd is noisy, but you can't hear a thing. You say nothing.
"All right... Place your head on the block."
"Place your head on the block."
Should I call out for Christ?
Who can think?
Poor Ralphie choked when he finally got up to Santa (gawd, what a great show) agreeing to a football ( "...what the fuck is a football?!")
But there is no Santa, no red-Ryder's with this thing that tells time to remember to ask for.
Just a faded bastard in black.
No more kids,
"Turn a little to the side."
You almost say thank you. Christ, what's wrong with you? He's chopping your fucking head off. Tell him to go fuck himself. Tell it the whole fucking crowd:
I love you.
What the fuck? Like an instant will make any difference. Like one more second...