A Very Merry PR Christmas
Editor's note: I received this fantastic pooem a few weeks ago from Mrs. Mad Crapper. She and Prarie Doggin combined forces to bring us a truly twisted version of 'Twas the Night Before Christmas'. I hope you enjoy.
Merry Christmas, Poopreporters!
T'was the night before Christmas; one more trip to be made.
Sants' was drinking and lookin' to get laid.
Lots of gifts for Poop Reporters but trouble foreboded.
It seems that the sleigh wasn't the only thing loaded.
In Washington state, and what’s the first house?
Why it's PR's dear Daphne, my favorite souse.
She's due for a new BanHammer, some critters, and wine.
Yes I think that will be all; yes, that's just fine.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear?
Holy shit, it's Gator - he's eating one of my deer!
Away to the window I flew like a flash.
Screaming like a girl as I make my mad dash.
"Where's Comet?" the other deer call as I run.
"GO!" I scream, "The dog’s eating him! Let's leave 'fore he's done!"
Next let's visit Wonderpance, PR's roller derby queen.
She's been nice this year; she'd never be mean.
For her I bring a new set of skates, some padding, but what's this? Oh, how dorky.
She's got a big present here that reads ‘from Daphne to Morky’.
I give it a shake. Oh, it's a way to deal with those spammers.
It's the glorious, magnificent, awesome BanHammer.
Next stop is sunny Lake Havasu City,
What the fuck's this dude want with all of these kitties?
Now just ease the team down under this ugly ass bridge.
Aw shit! I miscalculated the height just a smidge.
Too bad, old Donder, you jive ass turkey.
By noon time tomorrow he'll be venison jerky.
Mrs. Mad Crapper's house is the next stop.
Down the chimney I go with my big fat ass… Plop!
I reach the bottom, but what have we here?!
A torture chamber; and she's snagged one of my deer!
She's got poor Rudolf strapped to a rack,
With a car battery hooked up to his sack.
I hear her exclaim as I run for my life.
Merry Christmas, you red nosed bastard. Now, beg for your life!
A quick stop is ahead, just outside of Indy.
Cross I-85, damn, it's snowing and windy.
Can't see a thing as I approach Dodger's abode,
So I'll just follow low along this big ass dark road.
Straight at me a black Pete doing at least seventy-five.
Try to swerve and I pray I'll make it alive.
Then that stupid fucking Dasher comes to a complete halt.
Staring at the headlights like a complete friggin' dolt!
With a squishy thud, he is gone as I brake to slow down.
A gift for little Dodge, then it's outta’ this town.
Next stop is the woods of the hillbilly state.
Looks like we got here not a minute too late.
No chimney to see on this double-wide,
I'll just jimmy the lock and see what's inside.
Just peek in the fridge for something to eat.
Mmmm - kimchee, chittlins, and pickled pigs’ feet.
Oh good, look-ee here, a drink someone was fixin’...
HOLY FUCK! Who’s that fat guy field dressing Vixen!
Done visiting the rednecks, off to Jersey we go.
I can't breathe with this festering stink rising up from below.
But P. Dogg is resting all snug in his bed,
While visions of gold teef and bitches dance in his head.
I leave the presents and hurry back to my team.
On the way out I hear another deer scream.
It seems Cupid has caught a local pimp's eye,
He'll hook him out on a street corner ‘til the right John comes by.
Losing all these reindeer has made this trip slow.
Oh well, to the next stop - to Leandra's we go!
For her I bring gifts of Twilight galore,
Some posters, dvds, and a life sized Carlisle to adore.
She's been a good girl all year so I must insist,
To let her know from the PR gang just how much that she's missed.
"It's time to go home!" Santa shouted to what was left of his team,
"This fat bastard’s tired, and I need some Jim Beam!"
Home at last, poor Santa just can't take too much more.
He collapsed as he wondered what it all would be for.
No one appreciates the shit I go through
To bring Christmas presents to that damn PR crew!
When out stepped Mrs. Claus in her black lace-up boots.
All dolled up in a skin-tight leather playsuit.
She had on fishnets, and boy were they tight!
And through her top he could see her giant floodlights.
She did a quick spin like she was going to strip,
But then Santa saw clutched in her hand was a whip.
From her cleavage she pulled out a festive gag ball
"On the floor, slave!" she yelled. “Fat man, crawl!"
Away to the bedroom he crawled in a flash!
Mrs. Claus pounced on his back with a crash.
”I know that your night’s been rough, dear, what with that PR bunch.
”So tonight I have a surprise for you that involves a donkey punch.”
"Oh baby!" exclaimed Santa, "You're the one I adore!"
And so that night Mrs. Claus gave up the back door.
So Santa's now happy what with Mrs. Claus and her rear.
He's even got over the loss of so many reindeer.
But Santa exclaimed as he banged through the night,
"Merry Christmas to all! Damn, this shit's tight!"