“Stand back Pop and Fresh, your breath smells like a yeast infection. What are you anyway?”

The white half-baked glob of snottiness oozed back a little. “I used to be a Ginger Bread Man. I was the king of my castle, a huge palace of ginger bread, with a coating of the sweetest frosting, like angel dandruff.”

“But I was evicted” he continued, “during some kind of red and gold holiday you all get mixed up over. I ended on top of the trash in the ally, where I tumbled into the snow. I became white and bloated, dough to dough, crumbs to crumbs, regressing in slush.”

I was mesmerized by his toothless gob, phlegm, like glue stringing me along as he spoke. “So why are you here. Why me.”

He moved closer, salaciously caressing my hand. “One always returns to their creator.”

mom rolling pin christmas smells oven three hundred fifty degrees twenty minutes frosty features I am a God! “What do you need from me?”

“Put me back in that hot time machine of yours. Once I’m done, we’ll talk. Hurry.”