Death to the Fatman...

So, I load up OO-buck & hunker down in the bushes near my house. All those years of disappointment soon come to a head. Red & white no longer hold meaning in my life unless its running rich down the drain. I think I hear bells in the distance; ears strain against the thick night. The metal receiver is burning cold against my palm as a faint smirk emanates from my thin lips. My breath hangs heavy in the midnight air as bells become louder. Grip tightens; beating heart pounds with anticipatory revenge. Suddenly, through the light fog, highlighted by the nearby streetlamp I can barely makeout flailing hooves. My aim is true, 28 feet 10 inches behind the glow of red. Waiting, tracking, sights align, weapon shouldered, there is a deafening roar as screams cut through the darkness. The beacon hits the snow near my feet as wooden trains scatter randomly about. Reports come from all directions as the heavy vehicle dives erratically. One shouts, "I've got him!" Another, "He's mine!" My claim is challenged but my soul knows of the truth. Rewarded for tears every Christmas morning I silently rejoice in the spirit of the season. Vindication has been slow in coming yet, I feel as though I've broken the everlasting bond of the old fatman & his partners in crime... Easter will come soon enough & that bow-tied bastard of a rabbit will finally get his. Carrots & potatoes slowly simmering among delicate strips of pale flesh. Hoffenpepper for all.