The Tempest

Not Exactly Shooting For \”Miss Congeniality\”

Twas the night…

Posted by Daniel on Sunday, December 24, 2006

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through our house
Not a creature was sleeping, not even my spouse.
Fish net stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
We hoped that St Nicholas wouldn’t want to wear.

Our children, the cats, were tearing the tree all to shreds.
While vapors of cat nip screwed up their heads.
And Steve in his apron, asked for a night cap,
He’d just fixed that tree and was sick of this crap.

When outside the house there arose such a fuss,
I swished from my chair and loudly did cuss.
“Stop honking that horn, you dim-witted shit!”
“The neighbors will hear you and throw a big fit.”.

I was mooned and flipped off by some big-breasted ho,
My Vicoden wearing off, I wasn’t about to let that go.
When, what to my bloodshot and tired eyes suddenly appears,
But a pink Mini Cooper, pushed by eight nelly queers.

With a familiar gay driver, wearing whore-red lipstick,
I knew from the perfume it was Ray, that fat prick.
Like a prancing parade they were all such big flames,
And Ray flitted, and warbled, and called their drag names!

“Now Mona! Now, Christa! Now, Rogayne and Brandy!
On, Micah! On, Sasha! On, Chablis and on Mandy!
That’s not what I meant! Get off of each other!
Don’t embarrass me here! Now carry this shit for Mother! !”

Like having party guests that just fucking won’t leave,
Ray and his Rockettes give no one reprieve.
We were sure this visit would end as all with Ray do,
It would be less traumatic inviting monkeys who throw poo.

We saw on the front porch, next to Rays big fat rump,
The prancing and pawing of each little pump.
In a useless attempt, Steve dowsed the lights out,
Ray shoved the door open, that’s his way, the rude lout.

He was decked all in fur, from his chins to his knees,
His clothes made of spandex bulging most grotesquely.
A purse full of makeup he had slung over his shoulder,
He looked like a prostitute had spray painted a boulder.

His hair all piled up, the color blood-cherry!
One thing he was NOT was the Suger-Plum Fairy.
His big fat chapped lips were still white from the blow,
The horror never ended when seeing this ho.

An over-used crack pipe he held tight near his yellow teeth,
But the smoke that assailed us came from down beneath.
He had a fat pimply face and a huge beer belly,
It was grossing us out, and what was that smelly?!

He was fat and obnoxious, a right uncouth old queen,
We shiverred and puked, it was hard not to be mean!
A loud gaseous fart as he bent down to pet kitty’s head,
Soon gave us to know our cats, from the fumes, would be dead.

He never shut up. We couldn’t talk, there was never a break.
All the while he drank all our liquor and ate a whole cake.
And sticking a finger inside of his nose,
Needing a place to wipe it, our brand new curtains he chose!

Then sprang to his car, his faggy team he did drag,
So many more houses to barge into, that fat fucking hag.
But we heard him holler, as he chugged down the street,
“Merry Fucking Chtistmas beyotches, I’ll see you next week!”

12/2006 – By Daniel


One Response to “Twas the night…”

  1. Austin said

    I like your website; I will share this with friends

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