Christmas night bustles on, and the second set of relatives arrive. I can't see any of the festivities, but i can hear them. I listen and salivate from my room upstairs, where i am chained and muzzled, dreaming of those sweet eggs. I've been here since lunch. What happened wasn't too big of a deal, but, of course, my parents overreact. Here's the sitch: my mom's ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ stupid brother Gary forgot the Nog. As I burst into the kitchen to get a taste of the delicacy, I noticed there was no bowl, there was no yellow. I lost it. Shrieking while using a box cutter to cut that ♥♥♥♥♥♥'s jug open. He was bleeding out, struggling to stay alive. As we all watched, the group made a decision to put him down with my dad's 12Gauge. I threw up when i saw my uncle's brains splatter across the floor but quickly regained composer when I remembered the rat-like sins he had committed that day. Everyone in the family knew my Nog thirst, and because they respected me and were full of Jesus or Santa, nobody called law enforcement. I simply got a spanking, got promised a week in the hole, and then it's back in the chains for Nogboy.