Twas the night before Christmas and all through XI,
The Idiots were gaming in hopes they'd not die.
The claymores were placed everywhere with great care,
In hopes that some loser would not see them there.
But I wasn't gaming, I was laying in bed,
While visions of tits danced around in my head.
And mamma in her nightie and I in my shorts,
Had just settled down for a screwing of sorts.
When out on the front lawn there arose such a clatter,
I halted my stroking to see what was the matter.
I flew to the window without lifting the sash.
It took eighteen stitches to sew up the gash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But Mean Dean's old Ford with its bad steering gear.
He rammed into a tree and bounced off of a wall,
And knocked my front porch to the back of the hall.
His steps, how they faltered. His breath, how it stunk.
I knew in flash that Mean Dean was stone drunk.
More rapid than eagles his curses they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called me by name;
"Now, Harry, you asshole, you son of two sluts,
Get back in the game or I'll cut off your nuts.
"Just point your computer to COD5,
And before you can shoot I will skin you alive.
You fuck with the baker you might get the bun.
You fuck with Mean Dean and you just won't get none."
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
I ran to my puter and turned on my hack,
So I could blow Mean Dean to hell and then back.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the stair,
The bouncing and scraping of Dean's little pair.
He was standing there naked, his ass hanging low,
With a shrivled up dick 'bout the size of your toe.
A sack full of Schlitz he had flung on his back,
He resembled a grannie with a wrinkled-up rack.
His eyes oh so bloodshot, his chest oh so hairy,
He looked like a primate, his nose like a cherry.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
The better to suck on his pipe full of blow.
The stump of that pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He was chubby and fat, a right jolly old shit,
And I laughed when I saw him throw up on his tit.
And as he was sticking his finger in his nose,
I pulled back my foot, hit him hard with my toes.
He sprang to his Ford and threw it in gear,
And managed to get it the hell out of here.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove it on through,
"Harry you bastard, I'll be coming for you."