In any case, the Blob is taking a couple of days off to indulge in its own revelries.
("It's a Christmas miracle!" you're saying. Yes, I heard that.)
Be good. Hope all your holiday wishes come true, and no one leaves Nathan Peterman in your stocking. And just to send you on your way, I'll dust off my usual passage from Dickens, just to set the mood:
"Again the Ghost sped on, above the black and heaving sea—on, on—until, being far away, as he told Scrooge, from any shore, they lighted on a ship. They stood beside the helmsman at the wheel, the look-out in the bow, the officers who had the watch; dark, ghostly figures in their several stations; but every man among them hummed a Christmas tune, or had a Christmas thought, or spoke below his breath to his companion of some bygone Christmas Day, with homeward hopes belonging to it. And every man on board, waking or sleeping, good or bad, had had a kinder word for another on that day than on any day in the year; and had shared to some extent in its festivities; and had remembered those he cared for at a distance, and had known that they delighted to remember him."
Merry Christmas, everyone.
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