‘T’would seem a most unlikely fiction. But most assuredly, the hotdog was to blame.
Occasional gurgles and disembodied squeals punctuated the cavernous space of the archaic church, as the bishop tried to cope (unsuccessfully) with his churning guts. He bravely continued to deliver his sermon, yet clearly lacked his trademark enthusiasm.
Beads of sweat trickled slowly down his forehead. He closed his eyes in reverence, aware of the scale of what was to come. This was the moment that myth, became reality.
It is said on that day, those in the pews bore witness to a most extraordinary holiday mass indeed.