‘Twas the day before Christmas, on one windy farm, when a silly farmer thought she could carefully feed the beckoning pigs in her Christmas outfit. When up from the sky arose such a clatter, a sudden gust of wind and grain blown asunder. The farmer blinked feed, tears, and mascara from her eyes and looked down at the ground corn in her cleavage. She cursed the wind, the pigs, and her stupid thought of looking nice for no reason. And then, in a twinkling, she heard from the Ruf, soothing words of love and the beauty he beholds. She spoke not a word, but went straight to her work, pulling joy from a funk and propping up Christmas cheer once more. She sprang to her sleigh, through her phone gave a whistle, and away she flew bearing gifts, grappling for the blissful.


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