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Sunday, December 29, 2013

3rd Day of Christmas

On the third day of Christmas
Three French hens stopped by
Not a one of them would give me a try
And I cannot imagine as to why

Is the very suggestion of a foursome so offensive?

So off I went lickety split
In my sleigh made of whiskers
Held together with shit
Making a hell of a clatter
Drinking hot spiked cocoa
Drunk and mad as a hatter

I awoke later that same day
Face down in the snow
Half covered with hay
Being disturbed by a goat
Who thought my hair was a treat
Pulling it out by the roots and not letting go
Till I tweaked her right in a teat
Allowing me to beat a hasty retreat

Where on my long staggering walk home in the cold
I reflected upon getting old
And the questionable wisdom of doing shrooms on a Thursday
Plus a great many other things all told

When who to my wondering eyes did appear
Warming herself at my kitchen wood stove
But one of the French hens in a push up brassiere
Telling me something excitedly in her native tongue
But exactly what, was sort of unclear

Though I am starting to get the general drift of what she's all about
What with her soft dark skin and smooth French words pouring out of her mouth
Giving me the best third day of Christmas gift that could be
Of herself and me beneath my wretched Charlie Brown tree