My uncle recently found a card I had made, aged six, in my grandma's memory box.
It is my first documented pull back and reveal joke. And also evidence in any future murder trials I may be the subject of.
Here we have a nice looking house. Christmas wreath on the door. Santa going down the chimney to deliver the gifts. Lovely:
And here we have Santa hanging in the chimney, facing his fiery death with the dead eyes of true hopeless despair:
Interesting to note that there are already some presents under the tree.
Perhaps this card is a comment on the existence, or not, of Santa.
It was my Nietzsche moment.
Santa is dead kids. Santa is DEAD!