10 December 2012
There is a truly nasty tale,
Which I am committed to tell in grim detail,
About an ugly Christmas event,
Which may be slightly inclement,
To this "jolly" Christmas season,
But then why bother to read it? For what reason?
And don't expect any Christmas magic,
But, please do, many moments tragic,
And now for the annoyingly happy start,
(If I were you I'd skip this part)
Now, please control your crying gauge,
I don't want teardrops on this page!
It started in modern NYC,
The air oozing with loathsome glee,
A boy composed his annual list,
Which every year dared to consist,
Of the most sappy playthings,
Overstuffed garbage that sings,
But only three words he had scribbled down,
Now grinning like a dopey clown,
His oversentimental smile,
Was enough to make me cough up bile,
He carefully folded the cursed sheet,
And got up off the potty seat,
Now toddling to his mom and dad,
Babbling irksomely, pajama-clad,
You would think it was really cute,
(I'd rather it if he were mute)
I can't bear this anymore,
Let's get right to the guts and gore,
Let's skip right to the night before Christmas morn,
Most of the wrapping he'd already torn,
And soon there was only one gift left,
He lifted it with enormous heft,
There was the package, swathed in black,
It made him bounce his bottom back,
Before he could even merely tear,
He got a truly awful scare,
A figure, shrouded in a cloak,
From its swirling depths awoke,
And with a grotesque, ugly crack,
Snapped the neck of his late-night snack,
And while it now sounds inhumane, I must give him cred,
Santa did tell him to stay inside his bed.
The Christmas Gift • Opuss № I