A Drunken Visit From Creepy Ol' St. Nick

          For those who are anti-Christmas, you may want to avert your eyes and go back to looking at porn, because what you're about to read may offend you. It is a Christmas story. But not just any Christmas story; it's a retelling of the classic, "A Visit from St. Nicholas," or as you might better know it, "Twas the Night Before Christmas."
          Frankly, we felt the original was slow, boring, and had almost no plot development. So what we give you is a Christmas story for the modern era:

"A Drunken Visit From Creepy Ol' St. Nick"

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house

Every creature was fucked up, even a mouse.

The stockings were hung by the chimney in brown

Which was pretty fucking stupid cuz that shit just burnt down.

The writers were nestled all snug in their beds

While visions of Santa danced in their heads.

When in the front yard there came a great ruckus,

They went to the window, those tired muh-fuckas.

And there, by surprise, but whom should they see,

Jolly and fat; could it be, could it be? 

He crept to the house, with stealth of a cat,

Staying unseen… ‘til he kicked the door flat.

With a great, mighty belch, he wandered inside,

Cursing quite loudly, while cheering Yule tide.

His bundle, a trash bag, tossed to the floor,

His suit was unclean, like a two dollar hoor.

He raided the cupboards, drank all the beer,

The writers were shocked, and cowered in fear.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And “filled” all the stockings with a big nasty jerk.

The writers got angry, and chased him with brooms

And Santa ran pants-less out of their rooms.

The house was destroyed by that creepy old drunk,

What wasn't thrown up in was covered in spunk.

So now ol' St. Nick's serving 20-to-Life

And serving as Big Bubba’s prison cell wife

So now you may wonder why this story stunk,

And why Santa broke into 10 houses while drunk.

It's because Santa isn't real, you ignorant dope.

It was just a cracked up homeless guy looking for coke.

THE END

And that's the story of why we're never allowed to recite Christmas poems at the local elementary school again.

Merry Christmas, muh-fuckas!

Cheers and stay classy, friends,

Bryan and Brandon

Music: The Subways

Beer: Asahi Dry