

When Seymour Ate SantaWhen Seymour ate SantaWhen Seymour Ate Santa
Late one night, as most normal creatures slept, Seymour lay sleeping fitfully, gaining no rest. He was constantly awoken by strange tapping sounds coming from the roof, but when he lay listening they fell silent, as if they knew he was listening. After numerous interruptions of Seymour’s dreaming, he sought out the source of this nocturnal tapper. He left his home of many long seasons and climbed quickly and quietly to the roof. Up there he found Santa, dancing away. “Why do you persist in disrupting my slumber?” Queried Seymour in mild irritation. “I shall do as I
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~ballarat -> A Ballarat community on DA
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Without art, the crudeness of reality would make the world unbearable. - George Bernard Shaw
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I am not the poet of goodness only, I do not decline to be the poet of wickedness also. -Walt Whitman
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