He’d been accused of peeping. Peeping?! All he’d done was pass a skyscraper on his morning stroll and seen two chimpanzees going at it through a fifth storey window. It wasn’t his fault they hadn’t bothered to close the curtains before their lustful bedroom tryst.
He’d turned away, of course, so he couldn’t be held responsible for happening to lay eyes on two dragonflies shagging near said window!
I’ve given this topic a lot of thought. I’ve examined the ancient treatises and latest research. I’ve compared, pulped, sniffed and even licked them a little bit. And now I know the perfect shape for the perfect Christmas toy. So, you’d best don your Rudolph antlers and noses, grab yourselves a shot of brandy, and lean into what I’m about to say…
I’m not kidding by the way! Please don’t take this flippantly! It’s a very, very serious topic! One day, this information could save your entire Christmas.
The perfect shape for the perfect Christmas toy is a ball. Period.
There’s no such thing as the perfect birth when an egg gets cracked in the process.
On the other hand, how to get born without some generous slaps to one’s silky-smooth bottom? Gotta spill some precious yellow soul to learn that life won’t be easy—best to get acclimated to that fact right away.
The cracks over one’s shell become like wrinkles on a face over time. They’re signs of wisdom and emotional endurance. Some fragility is to be expected.
And it affords all the King’s horses and all the King’s men a reason to buy shiny new glue guns!