A Cautionary Christmas Tale
To those of you sat in some festive attire,
Roasting chestnuts and singing round an open fire,
Watching sexist old movies with your incontinent Gran,
Or gaily out dancing round a melting snowman.
I’m afraid this wasn’t written with you in mind,
This is a poem of a different kind,
A vulgar sort of Christmas fable,
Sans donkey, sans manger and sans stable.
This is the sad and sinful tale,
Of one nubile young lady named Abigail.
But a word to the wise dearest ladies and gents,
This foul sluts appearance may cause some offense,
By her sour demeanor,
Her puckered up lips,
The must of her knitwear
Or her muffin top hips.
She’s having a shocker of a year one can tell,
She got dumped just last Christmas
forcing her bottom to swell.
Now one Yuletide later,
She mopes in her flat,
Drinking leftover sloe gin
And pawing her cat.
Untill all of a sudden from the duldrums appears,
A bonnie bright angel her eyes brimmed with tears.
She sighs,
‘Abi my darling I don’t wish to pry
But you seem to be dwelling in an unholy pigsty.
The cup that you’re using to knock back your gin,
Is in fact not a cup but a Heinz bake bean tin.
The honk of your laundry is truly profound,
Your aversion to bras is enough to confound.
I don’t want to upset you,
But it’s about time you see,
That you’re becoming a bore dear,
And your pants smell like brie.’
Abi looked at herself,
And felt truly ashamed,
For her bulbous pudenda was not e’en contained,
By her soiled body stocking
And with horror she saw,
That her pendulous melons were scraping the floor!
The angel had gone and so had the gin.
She switched off loose women
And thrust up her chin.
She would not be dampened by some scrawny bloke,
With a whopping great ego,
And a cock that’s a joke.
She ran to the bathroom and flung on the taps,
Reached for the wax strips and mused
‘Gosh perhaps’
Tonight she might meet the love of her life!
Some dreamy lothario who’ll make her his wife!
‘Or a shag would be nice’ she said
As she plucked at her brow,
‘I need a good seeing to
Oh Lordy and how.’
An hour or so later,
With her girdle in place,
She emerged from her doorway.
Not one hair out of place.
Now for those of you listening
Who care for propriety,
I’d close your ears now,
To Eshoo your anxiety.
Abi rollicked and frolicked
With the creme de la creme.
She met some quixotic and some dubious young men..
She wiggled and jiggled with fervour and zeal.
In several pub toilets
Chaste moments she’d steal.
But for all of her charm and Winsome good looks,
The men she’d end up with
Turned out to be crooks.
‘I don’t get it’ she railed as she walked out the clinic,
It’s enough to turn a poor girl into a cynic.
Why are men such utter crap?
That’s the third time this week
I’ve been given the clap.’
Till all of a Sudden in her minds eye did drift.
The thought ‘These boys deserve a big Christmas gift.’
‘I’ve got an idea for a wonderful present’
‘I’ll turn all these young bucks back prepubescent.’
I hear you cry,
‘How gruesome, how gory’
What a mean thing to fright us all
with such a story.’
I wish I could tell you that I had no proof,
That in this grim tale there was no grain truth.
But police records do show on the eve of Saint Nick,
That She jumped down their chimneys
and lopped off their dick.
And now here comes the really nasty part,
This bit would sure flutter a lions heart.
Once the deed was done,
with her loot she would flee.
To hang all these mens baubles on her Christmas tree.
Now a nutter like this one,
You’d be right to think,
Would surely end up in the clink?
(Or at the least
in the care of a very good shrink)
And right you are! She was put away,
And I’m assured she’s in for a very long stay.
In Holloway prison she resides,
With all the rest of the homicides.
There in her cell she counted the days,
Each minute consumed by a maudlin malaise,
Till one day whilst cleaning she happened to meet
A fellow felon named Lesley,
Who severed mens’ feet.
Their hands met in a toilet
Across a marigold glove,
It was the olive branch extended from the beak of a dove.
So now Lesley and Abi ,
Two birds of feather,
Enjoy every holiday season together.
When asked ‘why try rid the world of each cock and ball?
They smile sweetly and say,
That only a fool would pine for an object
So contrite and so silly
As a One eyed and Dribbly,
Unfaithful, Fat Willy.’