Laura: So that little children everywhere can have Christmas, Colleen.
Colleen: But I don't buy them presents.
Laura: No you don't. But you should have gotten the memo upon graduation from college. Its entitled "Why we work so little children everywhere can have Christmas (insert graduate's name)"
Basically it explains the current tax structure and how each one of us is assigned to an account manager (Secret Santa if you will), who keeps track of how much you make each quarter and what percentage can be used towards Christmas expenses for the little children everywhere. My account manager is Bill Gates at the moment. He handles most business grads. Your's should be Nikki Hilton. She's newer but has taken on several BoFAs.
Anyhooo. The way it works is the more hours you put in at said job, the more "taxes" or Christmas money, is taken out. The money is pooled from the account managers who then decide (based on current political ideology) what dictates "naughty and nice". The information is transmitted via satellite to an outstation at the NorthPole, and the master list of children to receive presents is created. The quality and quantity of presents to be distributed is of course based on who works and how much in "taxes" has been taken out of each college graduates paycheck. Luckily, nowadays most people graduate with some sort of college degree and can contribute to the Christmas fund-hence the abundance of presents like Gameboys and Saturns. This is a big step since the early 1900s, when few graduated from Universities and presents tended to lean towards the "kick the can" game set, marbles, and the staple rag doll.
So that is why we work Colleen. That is why we had barbies and Christmas trees and sugarplums dancing in our heads. That is why every Christmastime you can sit back and thank God and Bill Gates and Nikki Hilton for taking care of our money that we would have foolishly spent on things like food and shelter, and putting it towards the greater good - that happy capitalist glint in the eye of American children everywhere as they open their "Robotic Mr. Poopsie the dog that barks and has a Global Positioning System" on Christmas morn.
Colleen: I come by this honestly.