Dear Xûrta Clause, You are a puppet, a messenger, a pawn. RNGesus owns us all, we play by his rules because it is life, it is the science of this world. You come to me shifting your weight as if you have a say in what you peddle. As if spouting to me about "worshipping to the power of the randomness of our universe" will bless me with luck. Are you the vex? Who Worship the science of technology, and of time and space? If you feel what you offer, against your own will, gives you power over me, then keep your last word. I will find my own prayers. They will be to the mantra of my gun. I will venture out into the wilds of space, turning those who oppose me into ash and soot. I will burn them in damning fire. I will rip them from the world, soul and all, with the nothingness of the void. I will speak to to their nerves and spine, unleashing an electric scream that their bodies cannot contain. I will use the energy of force and motion, of bullets and blood. I will use the knowledge of their biology to smear their brains across worlds. This science is the science I worship. The science of deconstructing those who stand in my way. You worship your probability and chance. In the mean time I will practice my daily devotions: permanently ending the vital processes of organisms.