It was Christmas Day, 2010. One year had passed since the expiration of Christmas Cop. He was molested awake by his very own stench. Thick make up collapsed atop his rapidly decaying face. Maggots, worms, and every creature in-between feasted on his body. It was gross, and oh my sweet dear Lord, that unbearable hoobastank®. He tried to cry out, and was greeted with profound silence. This sucked. He tried to move. He was met with the equivalence of silence for motion.