(You should read the following with a Ken Burns film-esque soundtrack playing in your head. And somehow make everything sepia-toned.)
My Dearest Love,
I write to you with the gravest of news. The War on Christmas continues, but I fear our side makes no inroads. The fearsome warriors of Fox and Friends and their mighty general, Billo the Blowhard, prove too strong a foe.
Darling, you know this weighs on me more heavily than most, as I am atheist. And, so, it is with an ailing heart that I inform you of this grim chapter in our righteous fight.
Last night, I awoke to find the house festooned with evergreens, gayly-colored balls, queer, tiny lights and garishly-wrapped gifts. There appeared to be at least one stocking hanging from the mantle. And it had clearly been hung with care. It was hideous sight, and I confess I felt a bit ill upon seeing it. Who had unleashed this Merry Mayhem? I searched for a culprit. Only to find she stared back at me from the mirror–it was I! Oh, the horror! It seems I had become manic with some sort of cheer…some sort of Christmas-induced spirit, and I had committed these atrocities myself.
War truly is Hell. Still, I fight on, my love.
Your Anti-Christmas Valkyrie