With the holidays now upon us, it's
really hitting home how much I miss our former neighbour, Troy. Like
most decent community members, he was always quick with a smile and a
wave; he kept his property in good order; his kids were never too
loud past midnight. Troy was pretty quiet, too - he even switched off
his Harley at the top of our street, silently coasting past our homes
and into his garage like he was on a giant chromed mouse.
Our new neighbours are great folks,
too - really sweet people - but they can never quite make me smile
the way Troy inadvertently did every Christmas season. He usually
opted for a tasteful wreath, a couple of colourful floods, some
cut-out paper snowflakes on his windows; nothing too showy or...
deliberately obscene. But the final three, hilarious years he lived
across the street from us, he set up an inflatable lawn display
featuring a Santa character methodically rising and lowering inside
his chimney in a glacially-paced game of peek-a-boo with a Rudolph
the Red-Nosed Reindeer figure facing him. This hardly merited a
second glance, unless, given the right meteorological conditions,
this slo-mo pas de deux got animated in ways far more
enchanting than its designers ever could have imagined.
When weather turned sour and the
breezes kicked up, it became a family tradition for us to gather
around our front window, cradling hot cocoas, blankets on our laps
and Bing Crosby on the stereo, and watch Troy's display metamorphose
before our eyes. As divine good luck would have it, Troy's air-filled
icons were aligned to the prevailing nor'westers that sometimes came barreling down our street. These gave Rudolph almighty slaps on his
back, folding him forward. Each time Santa emerged from his huge
bricked sheath, the flailing reindeer would crumple straight into
Santa's waiting arms and groin. With just the right gusts this
pneumatic love fest would then commence bucking rhythmically,
transforming this innocent commingling into a raunchy tussle.
With the dutiful indifference of a porn
star, the smiling red-nosed playmate would plunge down on his master,
hammering at his waistline briefly, teasingly, before Santa waggled back down his chimney lest an unseen Mrs. Claus should catch them
in flagrante delicto. On a good day the wind and their stamina
would last well into the evening, sending us off to bed with visions
of things far different than sugar plums dancing in our heads, as we
tried to fall asleep while laughing out loud.
Not an actual recording of Troy's lawn. Animated for your perverse pleasure with Adobe Photoshop & Premiere
Each morning we'd wake to the same
sight – deflated fabric lay scattered across Troy's yard, barely
hinting at the sexual bacchanalia that sizzled on this snowy lawn the
night before. Collapsed across the privet as if sleeping off a
bender, the jolly old elf's frozen grin and Rudolph's tumescent schnoz
suggested both were in a state of perpetual arousal, eagerly dreaming of the next chance to consummate their elicit paring.
Troy may never know what happened each
time he plugged in that little puttering compressor of his, but we
thank our lucky stars it filled his streetfront porn stars with the
Spirit of Christmas Perversion.
