Not only did Santa very cleverly peek at my profile, they messaged me with a wonderful array of questions and kind rapport- the end result? Corporate dominance.

No longer will my coworkers forge my signature- nay, the authentic lactic brand of Cheetos dust lays upon my briefs!

No more shall I wear the striped chains of lawyerly boredom, for now I have dragons- but seriously, this bow tie is the tits.

From this day forward, my office shall cease to smell like toner and stale coffee, for now, I possess the power of a thousand pine trees distilled into a single wax pillar, along with a very a propos disclaimer.

"God damn it," I wrote, "Thank god my Santa sent a journal, because I'm getting pretty damned tired of writing cryptic Facebook statuses," signing without a hashtag.

And finally, dear Santa, my sincere thanks for the sturdy, big-ass mug, shown here with my aforementioned Weejuns, which will no doubt be filled, re-filled, and emptied in a great, grand circle of caffeinated life. Just like the Lion King, but with coffee. A most excellent cube day.