'tis a blight upon Christmas I "scrawl" with my mouse
And my keyboard, brain whirling; it's peeving my spouse.
The schlock from my tongue goes to dim screen; that's where
I'm roasting Saint Nicholas. . .goon-doodled fare.

So childish and dreck-filled, what runs through my head:
Revisionist saccharine junk that you'll dread.
Quite maudlin, this mischief, say I, writer chap,
As shmutz I set down for each song, witless crap.

When I maunder on, there it goes: such a natter:
I drank too much redeye. . .perhaps what's the matter.
I take to the gin; goes it right down the hatch. . .
Tore open the stopper to pour out a batch.

I swooned from ingesting the booze, fallin' low.
Hey, a lush will have midday-hooch grog fests, ya know!
Then what to my wandering eyes should appear
But a ditty to slay, about the ninth reindeer.

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Santa cheats on his wife and he's swivin' the "chick,"
And her name is "Vixen"; she turnin' the trick.
He's randy and leerful; he's coarse and likes game--
That with which your mouth's fed and with which you have shame.

Ploughed Dasher, ploughed Dancer, ploughed Prancer and Vixen,
On Comet, on Cupid, on Donner and Blitzen.
Gets on top and he porks their portals, one and all.
There's lads to splay, lass to splay. Last one to ball. . .

The guy leads the herd through space as higher they fly,
With a beet-red schnozzicle, mounted he by
The shtupping old souse-sot; of course, you know who.
It's the sleigh-leading boy that Saint Nicholas woos.

This man's kinda kinky--the herd gets his root;
He's panting and pawing, purring to each: "beaut."
Then he moved his fat hand and was reaching around
Found the "limb"; he chafed. . .lickerish, bays like a hound.

He was pressed on the fur, red-nosed-one-dunked, the coot;
In the throes, he bawled, "Gar nicht!" though Dutch were his roots.
He bungholed the boy as he hung on his back,
And it looked a petting zoo gone far off track.

His thighs, how they rippled; his him-full quite hairy.
His cheeks were adipose, and his post: quite scary!
He rolled off his mount; he had withdrawn post-O;
He would rear other hims than he with red-nosed glow.

His stump would arise as he pondered a sheath.
Then he'd poke the whole circle--much love to bequeath.
He found the broad's place, then he pounded her belly;
He'd put on his staff a slick-as-graphite jelly.

In his chubby he pumped: What would follow? An elf
He would pack the manikins with his penile pelf.
Dinky gals and guys he would tryst with in bed. . .
Spoon or take a blow from a gnome's bobbing head.

He poked all the herd and then strayed from that work
To fill up a stocking with sperm from a jerk.
Then laying his fingers aside from his hose.
Quite livid his prod. . .slumped; 'twas his she! He froze.

His bag'd been away. . .returned steamed and real nettled,
And she brayed to the dude: "There are scores to be settled!"
And he heard her exclaim as she beaded the sight
At his dipstick: "Your balls are all gone!!"
Manhood-lite.