I can't believe it's been four years since I grossed out my friends with some Christmas Bad Poetry. Called "Christmas Pitstop," the curious can find it in the archives here and it's in my poetry pdf.
My present to all this year is another bit of bad poetry.
T'is early, early Christmas Day,
But no drinkin' with Mertle Faye.
I hide behind our festooned tree,
That ole fat man, I hope to see.
I hear a thump out on the roof,
Then the ping of a dainty hoof,
And before I can count to three,
Ole Saint Nick stands beside the tree.
Stepping out with moves smooth as silk,
I offer him cookies and milk.
Nick takes the plate and sets it down,
Then he whispers through a sad frown,
"I'm so sorry son, didn't you know?
These tasty treats I must forgo,
It's 'cause I'm lactose intolerant.
Diabetes, too. That's rampant.
But I'll sit here to have a snack
And rest my poor old aching back.
Christmas is hard on the ole coot
That's stuffed in this funny red suit.
So check your frig, see what you got,
It won't take much--I'll tell you what!
This feller would shout with delight
For a crisp dill and a Coors Light."