Do you know we love you, Wonkers? Because we do. And not just because you send us all the money all the time, and let us buy Doktor Zoom and Snipy and booze and Obamacare. (It is mostly because you send us money all the time and let us buy Doktor Zoom and Snipy and booze and Obamacare.)
2013 might have been kind of a shit year for our beloved Bamz -- and it was Blanche, it was -- but it was a swell one for your Wonket. We learned how to do some businesslady entrepreneuring things, which is why your homepage currently looks like a hoarder's house of capitalist bullshit, and you hardly ever complain about it at all! We expanded our Media Empire to include HappyNiceTimePeople.com, for all your sideboob and Ronan Farrow needs. We job-created. We took many, manyvacations business trips and bought you much beer.
And we got to kiss you on your beautiful faces in person, and you liked it.
Every time you comment on a Wonk post, every time you tweeter a story or share it on your myfaceplace, it makes us feel loved. (You should definitely do that more.) Every time you help us #WAR on shitheads like WeaselZippers or Arthur Sullivan -- just kidding Arthur Sullivan, you're cool -- it makes us feel strong, commanding our eeeevil forces like a strong eeeevil lady general with just a flick of our whip.
We love you wholly and deeply, even when you suck, and let's not kid ourselves, you so often do. You are our Wonkers. You are our fambly. And fambly means no one gets left behind.
Trix. You're doing it wrong. Christmas is for airing of grievances, one each night until the candelabra is ablaze with indignation on imani.
Hey Joseph! Hey Mary! Do you know what day it is? Do you? Guess what day it is...
Shut up camel! And get out of the manger before you wake the kid.