Turkey

Nothing says Christmas like an angel floating past you on your morning jog.

Ok, well angel maybe stretching it a little.

Ok, well jog maybe stretching it a little.

But it was morning.

And the angel may have been a, let’s say, “past his prime” man on a bike, with a trump inspired roast turkey tan, cycling towards me in his ALL WHITE bike shorts.

And I looked straight at his junk.

I mean HE LEFT ME NO OPTION.

3 seconds is a long time to have Lycra suspended junk hurtling towards you. 3 seconds of my life that will forever be embedded in my brain.

Thanks white pants man.

As I stumbled off the path rubbing my eyes in the hope that my retinas would stop screaming at me, I remembered the brief moment that I averted my gaze from his wobbling giblets and saw the look on his face. He was having a blast.

Now I guess you are wondering what bible verse I can segue into from here. Don’t tempt me.

I have none. No moral to the story, no reason at all really to give you that disturbing mental picture, apart from perhaps to give you a smile or perhaps a moment of tut-tutting with pursed lips.

Either way, I hope it has given you a moment away from the stresses of life to be Merry.

Consider it my Christmas present.

Merry Christmas.