It's good to know that, when everyone else is viewing the world through peppermint-colored glasses, Mr. Denver Hax is there to keep things in proportion.
I was observing that the ground level of Steam Sky City seemed to be growing land mass, with little islands popping up in the large body of water beneath the sky city, when one in particular caught my eye: Santa's Ghetto. Not all is spic and span in the North Pole.
Take these two snow-bandits, for example. One has a bat, the other has a cosh, and both seemed to have done a number on one of their kind. (Who knew they bled?)
Of course, what would Christmas be without too much rotgut to drink and passing out in a pile of garbage beneath a dead tree? (Oh, so your Christmas is so much nicer?)
Not that there isn't plenty to eat here. Why, reindeer slow-roasted on a spit is just the thing to take the edge off one's hunger.
And this little guy seems to have missed the spirit of the season, hasn't he?
Don't miss a trip to Lapland, where Santa himself may be in attendance. The old guy has some kinks they tend to keep out of the holiday shows; ladies may wish to keep out of range of grabby hands.
Fa la la la la...