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Monday, 10 December 2012

'Twas the Night Before Christmas... fucktard version

'Twas the night before Christmas, and I hid in the kitchen.
Slowly going insane, barely refraining from bitchin'.
Most of the gifts were stuffed into bags without care,
In hopes that I would stop ripping out my hair.

The children were sprawled on the floor, crashing hard
From a sugar high supplied by their Dad, the fucktard.
The cat's up the tree, the dog's eating a shoe...
A blunt must be rolled, without further ado!

When out on the street there arose such a clatter,
I dragged my ass to the window to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I dragged ass like the dead,
Tore open the curtains, and stuck out my head.

The neighbour's lights on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the colors of vomit to the objects below,
When, what to my bloodshot eyes should appear,
But a broke down old sleigh, and eight crackhead reindeer,

With a fat fuck old driver, stumbling and drunk,
With a bottle of Jack and a bag of good skunk.
Hopped up on the pipe, his frightening deer they came,
He wet himself, and shouted, and called them by name;

To the top of the porch! to the top of the walls!
A rock for the bitch that tugs on my balls!"

As dry heaves that after the wild rez party do fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the fuckers they flew,
With the sleigh full of weed, and that fat, pissy fuck too.  
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The scratching and clawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Fat Fuck came with a bound.

He was dressed in polyester, from his head to his toes,
And he reeked of good weed, liquor, and hoes;
A bag of that weed he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pimp as he adjusted his sack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his tattoos -- how thug!
I stood there, praying he wouldn't piss on my rug.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And his pit stains the color of old, peed-on snow;

He staggered and gagged as he adjusted his hood,
And I thought for sure, this time I'll be locked up for good.
I can't be seeing this, it's not real, I must be asleep!
But why would I dream of this fat, pissy creep?

He was there, he was real, that smelly old fuck,
And I thought when I saw him, "this is just my luck";
With a wink of his eye, he pointed to the bag at his right.
And he asked if he could bum a paper and light.

He spoke not another word, but rolled up a blunt.
He passed it my way. Maybe he's not such a cunt.
He didn't stay long when we finished our toke,
And left me there, buzzed, in a big cloud of smoke.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave some rock,
And away they all flew like hoes after the cock.
But I heard him exclaim, as he cracked the whip at Cocksucker,

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