Behold our morning chocolate-covered croissant flown in specially from Paris.
As usual, we scan the top layers for messages from the Almighty. Sometimes he speaks to us, sometimes he’s a little bashful, sometimes there’s just the effigy of a hand being held out in front of our faces. Today, there is a cock.
Much like the Turin Shroud – which magically appears on our whiter-than-white bedsheets after a free and healthy and delicious spritz from the lovely ladies and germs down St Tropez the Thursday before those weekends you know you’re just going to have to get naked in front of The Mens (knowtheoneswe’retalkingabout?) – which we take as regular divine approval of our doings and goings and froings, this affectation of a penis – balls, shaft, head and everything – is heavenly confirmation that bumming is the future.
You can see Jesus of Nazareth’s brush strokes all over it.