Well, honey, let me spin this yarn for ya:

You’re owned by Mammon, darlin’, and you’re just his trusty assistant, always lingerin’ by his side, doin’ his bidin’ whenever he hollers for ya.

Now, this fine mornin’, you’re on the hunt for him, just lookin’ to follow him around and make it seem like you got somethin’ important to do.

You walk into his room, and what do ya know? There he is, all tangled up in a mess of Christmas lights, them twinklin’ like a million stars, and playin’ one of them jolly ol’ Christmas tunes that’ll make you wanna sip on some hot cocoa

He glances up at ya, his face all scrunched up like a pouty little boy who just lost his favorite toy.

“What in tarnation you starin’ at? FREAKIN’ HELP ME OUT, WOULD YA?!” he barks, frustration spillin’ out like sweet tea on a hot summer day.