With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore:
‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through my home,
there was no porn being watched, no stroking the bone;
The lotions and tissues, put away with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
The dildos and buttplugs were snug in their beds,
While visions of dolphin porn danced in their heads;
And Amy in her pjs, and I in my bare ass,
Had just settled down and fallen asleep fast.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I opened and flashed,
And saw it was my neighbor, her face aghast.
I waved with both hands and a penis that was hard.
I was shutting the blinds as she called me a fucktard.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, looking drunk at the wheel,
“It’s Santa Claus!” I said with a squeal.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled and slurred and called them by name;
“Now, Dasher! Now Dancsher, Now Prancsher and Viksshen!
On, Comet! On Kyoopid! On Donner and Blitzshen!
To the *hic* of the porsh! To the top of that wall!
Now *hic* away! Dash a*hic*! Dash away all!”
And then I heard him tinkling up on our roof
And a retching and vomiting and a sound like “BLARGHOOF”.
As I grabbed a wreath and covered my crotch,
Down the chimney St. Nick came, smelling like Scotch.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot.
And he was covered in puke and ashes and soot.
A bag filled of toys spilled off his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes were bloodshot and his breath smelled like sherry,
His cheeks were bright red, his nose like a cherry!
His drooling mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as yellow snow.
The stub of a roach he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke reminded me of high school – 1993.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.
He was fat and wasted, a right jolly old bum,
And I laughed when I saw him, and offered some gum.
A shake of his head, and a flick of his arm,
The glint of a knife told me he meant me some harm.
“Get out of here, you old fucking drunk,
You smell like you just shit out a dead skunk!”
I grabbed a bat that was a present from my wife,
And smacked him in the face before I got stabbed with his knife.
He spoke not a word, but circled me quick,
And jabbed once, twice, the third causing a nick.
As I noticed the blood, I lashed out with my foot,
Catching his crotch, I heard a grunt and a toot.
He shook his fist and put his finger on his nose,
Gave me the other finger, and up the chimney he rose.
He stumbled to his sleigh, to his slaves he called,
And away they flew while he clutched his balls.
But I heard him exclaim as his sleigh became less visible,
“Merry Christmas to all except that fucker Avitable!”
Twas the night
Bollywood Night
You are a dirty old man.
DIRTY!
Happy Christmas Eve!
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Twitter: Amanda234
says:
Nice job rhyming fucktard
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Twitter: Amanda234
says:
I should clarify…
That was nice job rhyming “fucktard”
not nice job rhyming, fucktard.
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Yeah nice, rhyming fucktard.
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That is, of course, rhyming fucktard not… you know… rhyming fucktard.
Oh nice going Amanda. Now look what you’ve done.
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yeah right! Like we are supposed to believe you took out the pugilist of the North Pole in a seedy knife fight (without Britt’s help) and yet never walked away with a PSIII or a Wii? Not even a blow up sex doll that looks like Jessica Alba? Yeah riiiiiiight
ON the other hand. Nice rhyming fucktard. heh heh Merry Christmas
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Merry Christmas Fucktard…. just another word I love.
Rewading your blog has increased my vocabulary immensely.
Mary
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Wish it could do the same for my spelling.
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Priceless!
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Obviously, Santa must visit northern Michigan before continuing on his way south to Florida. I’ve noticed his rosy, red cheeks, so my guess is he’s only moderately impaired this early in the evening. Come to think of it, if I had to fly around in an open sleigh in December, I’d be tempted to nip at a pocket rocket too.
mas1:
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Poppy, I’m not old, you are!
Amanda, I thought “invisible” and “Avitable” was even better. Fucktard.
RW, you’ve been drinking again, haven’t you?
Y2K, well, the poem glosses over that part, but I got his whole bag of toys.
Mary, my blog is very “rewading”.
Bobgirrl, yet you can purchase the rights to it for $1.50.
Robin, he was chugging scotch like it was water. That’s not a nip!
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Twitter: hismuse
says:
I feel you truly understand what Christmas really means and that touches me deeply.
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of my fuck, that made my morning! especially the part where i wanted to say what a great job you did getting “fucktard” to rhyme and i come to the comments only to find it tickled others just as much. although getting your last name in there rhyming is no small thing.
so i’ll just say great job all the way around. although are you sure you wrote it? i mean, no dolphin porn and no stroking the bone? something’s wrong!
this post will get printed and stuck into more than a few cards this year! sharing the avitable love for christmas. i’m probably going to get crap in my stocking for this one.
speaking of gifts, what did you settle on for the parents?
merry christmas, avi and mrs. avi. hope your holiday is wonderful.
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Where do you come up with these things? Amazing!
Very funny, Avitable.
Merry Christmas!
J.
mas1:
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Okay, that is just a little bit over the top. But funny!! And you had to work the dolphin porn in again didn’t you. Just when it was almost erased from my mind. Ugh! It’s back!
Merry Christmas!
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Robin, yup!
Hello, I decided to write it a bit tamely. And I decided on a gift basket for my parents – I’ll probably post about it after Christmas.
HG5, it’s due to mental diarrhea.
Trish, over the top? Which part? The penis?
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You have such a way with words.., I think I’m in love.
Merry fucking Christmas!
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hah!
omg. This is one to read to the kiddies, for sure.
Cause, I’m a good parent and all.
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Dearest delusional man, you are now in your 30s. You are now old. Don’t bother trying to compare yourself to me, you’re in The Club.
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(And I say this as I rock out to Goodies by Ciara. I’m not old.)
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:lmao:
Niiiiiiiice one.
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Merry Christmas!
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Merry Christmas,Adam, and thank you for the heart-warming poem. I think I’ll read it for the family, right before we open gifts. Of course, I’ll give you proper credit.
mas1:
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I applaud the commitment to rhyming, I think that others would have given up a couple of stanzas in. Merry Christmas.
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Wintersky, happy fucking holidays!
RaeJane, that’s what good moms do.
Poppy, I’m 30. I’m not IN my 30s. Big difference!
Amy, thanks!
Preposterous Ponderings, same to you.
Angel, you can also send me a royalty check.
Kylah, when I’m in, I’m in deep!
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Whatever you have to tell yourself to get you through the day…
And, unsmartassedly, hope you and Amy have a great day with family. BYE. :heartbeat:
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And a timeless Christmas classic is born!
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Poppy, bye? Where are you going?
Mr. Fabulous, exactly!
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Yay!! I loved it!
mas2:
Except no mention of two girls and a cup, while Santa lets out a mighty hiccup?!
Wait- that doesn’t work.
Haha
That’s why you da rhyming fucktard!
Merry Christmas!!!
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I’m going to celebrate Christmas, silly. WITH A FUCKING COLD THAT I AM CERTAIN PiC GAVE ME BY TOUCHING MY KITTY (Ripley) BEFORE LEAVING ON A JET PLANE AND STICKING ME WITH TOUCHING HIS KITTY (Nigel). My throat hurts. Make it better without being dirty and disgusting.
(Even when I’m sick and it’s almost Santa day I can still be dirty. Yay, me.)
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PS – The Bourne Supremacy put me to sleep. (I just woke up in the middle of a car chase.) Thanks, Matt!
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Sybil, you’re right! I should have tried to work in 2 girls 1 cup. Maybe next time.
Poppy, I have a cold too. Ick. And the Bourne Supremacy was not responsible for you falling asleep. It was a good movie!
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Your standards are too low.
And, Tylenol Cold and Sinus plus a Mike’s hard cranberry lemonade are very much responsible for my falling asleep while watching Matt Damon pretend to act.
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Poppy, the Bourne trilogy is the fourth best trilogy in the world (Star Wars, Back to the Future, Indiana Jones)
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Says who? The first two were great, this one sucked sweaty ass.
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Poppy, Supremacy was the second one.
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It was?! I am watching them out of order?! Crap.
S’what I get for not paying attention to Matt’s career closely enough.
I rewatched Talented Mr. Ripley the other night. Now that’s a film worth watching!
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Poppy, I didn’t really like The Talented Mr. Ripley.
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I am not surprised in the least. We have opposing views on most films.
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That’s because I have good taste and you’re weird.
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You just made me cry.
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You know it’s true!
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There is nothing wrong with me being quirky. I have excellent taste to my fellow quirks.
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