Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the streets
All the buttpigs were snoring, they'd et too much cheese;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
and so was St. Nicholas, rock hard in the air;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
and they're not involved in this, don't be a pest;
Leather-mum in her apron, and I in my mask,
and when I say chimney, I do mean my ass;
Our reverie disturbed by an outside noise,
I sprang from my sling as I was expecting the boys;
Away to the window I ran like an ox,
My christmas baubles wobbling like michael j fox;
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,
Or maybe just twinks in a leather veneer,
I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick,
Based on the white pubes and the jolly red... Look I think you know where I'm going with this. A lot of the original poem is quite gay anyway, I suggest you go read that one. Merry Christmas.