
Every year for Christmas, I pick a few people I know and make presents for them. The list of recipients changes every year, with the idea that everyone I know will get something eventually, even if some need to wait a decade before their name comes up. This is primarily a method of suppressing insurrection against my rule of the local community; I tend to treat those around me as poorly as I can get away with, and they tolerate the abuse in the faint hope that it will all be worth it someday when they are gifted with a small clay man that is different from their other plastic and metal men.








