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!"