So much so that on Christmas Eve he went to bed peddling.
In the morning he ran to the adorned pine tree and opened his gifts.
But to Jack's dismay, he received a unicycle.
Later that day, Jack's friends came up to him. They were all on new bikes.
Jack's friend Sean asked him, "Where's your bike, Jack?"
Sally Sue laughed.
Jack, could only think of one reply:
"I do not define my masculinity by status, but rebellion alone. The path I walk is dark and polluted. The grass is dying here, and underneath it is centuries of death. Great thinkers and artists before me treaded under the grey of the sky, down these wind-torn, winding trails.. seeking power amidst endless, stinging loneliness and the vapid company of demons they thought they could control.
But new technologies have been afforded to me from the shadows of my brethren, and I walk this path with an eagerness less costly to my Hell-stained soul than others who might court the cycling night. With such ghostly earnestness, the juice of my ambition runs like the blood of a fictitious occultist born in some bleak storyteller's.. aging mind. And though any nightmare may be ahead of me, I am affirmed by the birth of such impersonal sense to tread forward, with little care."