We don't punish enough whippersnappers!

Mr. Miller here, readers.

I just wanted to shove my two cents in your face and wave it around for those of you who may not have heard me on earlier occasions.

It's about those two punks who went missing at Christmas: the kid and that woman. I hate 'em. It was so cold and snowy. Why in the hell would you want to run away? What would possess you? Having no brains, possibly? Being inconsiderate young flim-flams? Why would you pull that sort of flim-flammery on the honest, hard-working people of Turbot, in particular Mr. Warren G. Miller, on the happiest day of the year?

Yes, what about me in particular? "Mr. Miller, you have to help us look! You have to help us look!" I'd love to help you shut up is what I'd love to do. I said it was too cold and that God would sort them out. The looks you people gave me! I've been in my trailer almost as long as John Turbot! I deserve some respect and, as I sit down to a beautiful Loin dinner, I don't need your scorn. The walls are thin in my trailer and I can feel your looks burning through the old aluminum. Knock it off!

Those rapscallions should be placed over knees and walloped within an inch of their lives. Not mollycoddled like veal! String 'em up and teach 'em a lesson about inconveniencing taxpayers, I say! Then, they will learn a little something about right and wrong. And, I can celebrate my holidays in peace.

Barring that, I want the details on what they got up to when they were missing. I like my stories as hot as the next guy! Hotter even! Give it to me! Or shut up.