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A Christmas Classic…Well, Sort Of

Posted by Daniel on Friday, December 15, 2006

Warning…the following is NOT meant for timid eyes or minds. If you are easily offended by gay verbal imagery, please do not read. You’ve been warned…so no fucking complaining. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays. Sasha, where are you??


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Every gay up in Westport liked Christmas a lot, but the Bitch,
who seldom stepped foot in the area, most certainly did not.
The Bitch hated Christmas, the whole Christmas season!
Now, please don’t ask one quite knows the reason.
It could be her wig wasn’t pinned on just right.
Or, perhaps it was that her cheap Payless pumps were too tight.
But I think that the most likely reason of all
May have been that her pee-pee was 2 inches too small.
But whatever the reason, she stood there they said
Hating each faggot and every last lez.
Staring down from the stage, glitter dusted and gorgeous,
Her face looking flawless, her tits quite enormous.
For she knew every Westport gay, so tanned and buff
Was now primping and tweezing and bleaching and stuff.
“And they’re waxing their back hair!” she snarled with a sneer.
“Tomorrow is Christmas! It’s practically here!”
Then she hissed, and just stood there looking quite stunning,
“I must find some way to stop Christmas from coming!”
For tomorrow the sodomites and carpet munchers
Will roll out of bed around 1:00 for their brunches.
They will walk hand in hand all over the place
Throwing their sick lifestyles in her gorgeous face.
And then they’d do something she liked least of all..
Every Westport gay with their shaved low-hanging balls
In their “Don’t Panic” t-shirts and their freedom rings
Every drunk little faggot actually sings.
They sing Barbara and Judy and Liza…its scary
Young ones sing Pink and Christina Aguilera
Britney, Alicia, so many choices
Warbled out in effeminate, weak little voices.
And the more the Bitch thought of those fags trying to sing,
The more the Bitch thought, “I must stop this thing!”
“Why for 40…23 years I’ve put up with it now!
I must stop this Christmas thing from coming…but how?”
Then she got an idea, an awful idea!
The Bitch got a wonderfully awful idea!
Their apartments were empty, no one was at home
Disowned by their families, they despise being alone.
To the gay bars they march to spend all their money
Fools who think Smirnoff is good and Belle Starr is funny.
The Bitch tried the door but it was locked tight.
Thank goodness she watched CHARLIE’S ANGELS last night.
From her sassy new do she removed a hairpin
And picking the lock, she let herself in.
The place was atrocious, a postmodern bad dream
Filled with crap from Ikea, Pier 1 and Linen’s & Things.
With sad touches of retro: a new lava lamp
And a chrome vintage toaster, in short it was camp.
She slithered and slunk, with a smile most unpleasant
Around the whole room and she took every present!!
Roller blades, work-out gear, bronzer and more.
Skimpy little slut shorts and Prada shoes galore.
Male grooming products, a brand new cell phone
Calvin Klein underwear and his stinky cologne.
An expensive l’Gea hair removal system
And so many drugs I can barely list them.
Acid and Crystal, Crank, Crack and Ice
Two 8balls of coke when one would suffice.
Poppers and Special K, plenty of X
And their stockings stuffed full of perverted gay sex.
Magazines, dirty books, all of which she skimmed through
Filthy smut movies by Chi Chi LaRue.
Wet personal lubricant, dildos this long,
Tit clamps and assless chaps, a two-headed dong.
Butt plugs and anal beads, soon to be shoved
“Have pity on them, they just want to be loved!”
The Bitch laughed to herself as she filled up her bags
Taking everything dear to the tired Westport fags.
Once full, she twist-tied them and gave them the boot
And sent all the presents right down the trash shoot.
Then she slunk to the fridge, she ate the gay’s food!
She guzzled and gobbled and chowed down quite rude.
She ate wilted arugula, baked Brie and pate
Free range turkey, Kalimata olives and crème Brule.
Basmati rice with Maui onions and sun-dried tomatoes
Rustic tex-mex, sage-infused roasted new potatoes.
Chilean sea bass and pumpkin ravioli
The Bitch washed it down with a bottle of Stoli.
Then the Bitch went postal on the fag’s Christmas tree
Tearing it limb from limb, as wild as she could be.
Lights popped as she karate-chopped, spinning like a twister,
Till the tree looked like it had been decorated by
Martha Stewart’s retarded sister.
The Bitch then smashed the gays’ most prized possession:
A pink triangle ornament…and then she smelled Obsession.
She turned around fast and saw a sleepy Gay
Little Sasha Jay Gay, who was 19 if he was a day.
The Bitch had been caught by this underage stud
Who could not go to bars yet and he resembled Paul Rudd.
Paul Rudd was in “Clueless” and “Object of My Affection”
He always gave the Bitch a tiny little erection.
He stared at the Bitch and said, “Oh God, Flo, why?”
“By the way, I’m half-blind, hung like a horse and Bi.”
The Bitch started sweating, she needed to think
Then she smiled at the boy and gave him a wink.
“Your friends felt so bad that you couldn’t have fun
That they bought you a hooker and I am the one!”
“Your Christmas present is me, you see
I have been hired to satisfy you…sexually.”
The Bitch thought the boy would run away
After all, this is Westport, where everyone’s Gay.
But not only did he not disappear
He was drooling and smiling from ear to ear.
He really is Bi! The Bitch thought in her head
“Come on whore!” said Sasha. “Let’s go to bed!”
“I’ve a better idea, you lock the door
And lets do it all night right here on the floor.
The boy wasn’t waxed or bleached or tan
And he fucked like only a 19 year old can.
They did it three times and then did it once more
And the Bitch finally felt like a hot little whore.
And what happened next? Well, in Westport they say
That the Bitch’s small penis grew three inches that day.
No longer a drag queen and quite butch in most every way
The Bitch now decorates all the isn’t that gay?

The End


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