The one thing I remember about Christmas was that my father used to take me out in a boat about ten miles offshore on Christmas Day, and I used to have to swim back. Extraordinary. It was a ritual. Mind you, that wasn't the hard part. The difficult bit was getting out of the sack.
God was treated like this powerful, erratic, rather punitive father who has to be pacified and praised. You know, flattered.
Your Mother was A Hamster and you Father Smelled of elder berries.
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