On Christmas morn, a tale unfolds,
An ode to Vic, where joy beholds.
No more booze, a resolution we plot,
After a pint of snowball and a bourbon shot.
With snorts of laughter, a symphony bright,
Vic, my favourite, a Christmas delight.
Adventures we chase, and of aspirations we jest,
On a sleeper train, en route to Loch Ness.
Merry Christmas Vic, you beautiful soul
What’s in your stocking? Definitely not coal
This is sent with love from Jim, figuratively under your tree
And not written at 3am, by ChatGPT
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