Hello boys and girls! Would you like to hear the real story of Christmas? Of course you would. Hang on tight. It's about to get jolly as a motherfucker in this bitch!
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Just one thing was stirring, a man holding a blouse.
Some stockings were hung by the chimney with care
As the man sniffed the blouse and humped a pillow in the bare.
The children were nestled all snug in their bed
And you would be, too, if you had been dead.
The man used a kerchief and dried off his sack
And just settled down for a long winter's nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
He sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window he flew like a flash,
Grabbed a copy of his manifesto, a knife, and Steve Nash*.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen whore,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to the blood and the gore.
When, what to his wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, filled with murder and fear.
With a little old driver, bright red and masturbatin'
He knew in a moment it was his Overlord, Satan.
More rapid than eagles his demons they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
"Now, Marcus! now, Steven! now, Dashel and Vincent!
On, Hopscotch! on, Laser! On Pencil and Cake!"
The moment those names didn't rhyme, he was shocked,
But the names always rhyme in this storybook schlock.
At least they all used to--back when he was seven,
Back when there was Santa, the Toothfairy, and Heaven.
Now there were bills, divorce, and his kids,
Who, upstairs, had suffered a late case of SIDS.
Just then, in a twinkling, he heard on the roof,
The SWAT team and a helicopter appear in a poof.
"Come out with your hands up! We've got you surrounded!"
They actually say that? He thought, astounded.
He quickly dressed all in fur, and threw out his knife,
But his clothes were all tarnished with brain, blood, and wife.
"I've got to do something," he said in a fright.
"Wait. I'll probably get off. After all, I am white."
Oh, his eyes--how they twinkled that sad, vacant stare,
His cheeks were like doughnuts, his nose an eclair.
His thin lips were grimaced much like a demon,
And the rest of his face was covered with his own semen.
"I can never plead insanity. That just won't do.
I'm far too together and cock-a-doodle-doo!"
He shit in his pants and things became smelly,
It shook when he laughed like a bowlful of shit**.
He stood at the front door and prepared for his demise,
When a swelling down below in his pants began to rise.
With a wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
He came in his pants, now a mix of white, brown, and red.
He spoke not a word, but he opened the door,
And giggled and laughed because he knew what they were in for***.
Then laying a finger aside of his nose,
He knew he was invisible and tipped on his toes.
Before he could fly away into the sky,
A nine millimeter bullet tore through his eye.
"Holy shit! Goddamn! Fuck! Motherbitch! Ouch!" He cried.
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all, a good-night!"
*Steve Nash appears courtesy of the Phoenix Suns in association with the Reading is Fundamental program. For more information, log onto their website.
**Shit is the Ancient Hebrew word for jelly.
***The grammatically correct version of this line should read: He spoke not a word, but he opened the door,/And giggled and laughed because he knew for in what they were.