This apparently led James to wonder what the whole family thing was about, and what he was actually getting out of the arrangement. Realizing his daughter had screamed that she hated him after a single day last year for not taking her to her friends house, and that the rare times he had sex it had less effort than a mumble rappers mix tape, his thoughts turned to escape.
The box that was the grave yard for useless gift ties had grown enormous over the years like a bad gift version of kirstie alley, enough to form a rope to escape out of the McNare Home bedroom window, considering it was a single story house, he had been ready for years.
Authorities contacted The Satira with a missing persons report, as little Harriet McNare was crying on television saying that all she wanted for Christmas was her daddy. When The Satira's investigation division managed to find someone remarkably similar named John NotJames in the next town over, they where told, "I don't know the guy, but I see that baby picture printed tie, and his freaking neon llama tie, don't do this to me, I am finally free, merry Christmas."
Unable to find any leads at all, The Satira has given up any hope of finding him, and cling to our own crappy ties and growing Christmas present debt in a silent memorial to the missing James McNare.
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