Twas the night before Payback…

‘Twas the night before Payback and all through the land,

The Taliban are running like rabbits in Afghanistan.

Osama’s been praying, he’s down on his knees,

He’s hoping that Allah will hear all his pleas.

He thought if he killed us that we’d fall and shatter,

But all that he’s done is just make us madder.

We haven’t yet forgotten our Marines in Beirut,

And we’ll kick your ass, with one heavy boot.

And yes we remember the USS Cole,

And the lives of our sailors that you bastards stole.

You think you can rule us and cause us to fear,

You’ll soon get the answer if you live to hear.

And we ain’t forgotten your buddy Saddam,

And he ain’t forgotten the sound of our bombs.

You think that those mountains are somewhere to hide,

They’ll go down in history as the place where you died.

Remember Khadhafi and his line of death?

He came very close, to his final breath.

So come out and prove it, that you are a man,

Cause our boys are coming and they have a plan.

They are our Fathers and they are our Sons,

And they sure do carry some mighty big Guns.

They would have stayed home, with Children and Wives,

Till you bastards came here and took all these Lives.

Osama I wrote this especially for you,

For air mail delivery by B-52.

You soon will be hearing a thud and a whistle,

Old Glory is coming, attached to a missile.

I won’t be sorry to see your cowardly ass go,

It’s Red, White, and Blue that’s running this show!

The Naughty Night Before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, and God it was neat. The kids were both gone, and my wife was in heat. The doors were all bolted, the phone off the hook, It was time for some nooky, by hook or by crook. Momma in her teddy and I in the nude, Had just hit the bedroom and reached for the lube.

When out on the lawn there arose such a cry, That I lost my boner, and momma went dry. Up to the window I sprang like an elf, Tore back the shade while she played with herself. The moon on the crest of the snowman we’d built, Shoved a broom up his ass, clean up to the hilt.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a rusty old sleigh and eight mangy reindeer. With a fat little driver, half out of the sled, A sock in his ear and a bra on his head. Sure as I’m speaking, he was high as a kite, And he yelled to his team, but it didn’t sound right.

Whoa Shithead, whoa Asshole, whoa Stupid, whoa Putz, Either slow down this rig or I’ll cut off your nuts. Look out for the lamp post, and don’t hit the tree, Quit shaking the sleigh, ’cause I gotta go pee. They cleared the old lamp post, the tree got a rub, Just as Santa leaned out and threw up on my shrub.

And then from the roof we heard such a spatter, As each little reindeer now emptied his bladder. I was donning my jockies, to cover my ass, When down the chimney Santa came with a crash. His suit was all smelly with perfume galore, He looked like a bum and he smelled like a whore.

“That was some brothel,” he said with a smile, “The reindeer are pooped, and I’ll just stay awhile” He walked to the kitchen for himself poured a drink, Then whipped out his pecker and pissed in the sink. I started to laugh, my wife smiled with glee, The old boy was hung nearly down to his knee.

Back in the den, Santa reached in his sack, But his toys were all gone, and some new things were packed. The first thing he found was a pair of false tits, The first thing he found was a pair of false tits, The next was a handgun with a penis that spits. A box filled with condoms was Santa’s next find, And six pair of panties, the edible kind. A bra without nipples, a penis extension, And several more things I shouldn’t even mention. A fuck ring, a G-string, and all types of oil, And a dildo so long that it lay in a coil.

“This stuff ain’t for kids, Mrs. Santa will shit, So I’ll leave ‘em here. and then I’ll just split.” He filled every stocking and then took his leave, With one tiny butt plug stuck under his sleeve. He sprang to his sleigh, but his feet were like lead, Thus he fell on his ass and farted instead. In time he was seated, took reigns of his hitch, Saying, “Take me home, Rudolph. This night’s been a bitch!”

The sleigh was near gone when we heard Santa shout, “The best thing about pussy is you can’t wear it out!!”

Twas the Night before X-mas

T’was the night before christmas- Old Santa was pissed

He cussed out the elves and through down his list

Miserable little brats, ungrateful little jerks

I have a good mind to scrap the whole works

I’ve busted my ass for damn near a year

Instead of thanks Santa what do I hear

The Old lady bitches cause I work late at night

The elves want more money the reindeers all fight

Rudolph got drunk and goosed all the maids

Donner is pregnant and Vixen has AIDS

And just when I thought that things would get better

Those assholes from IRS sent me a letter

They say I owe taxes-if that ain’t damn funny

Who the hell ever sent Santa Claus any money

And the kids these days- they all are the pits

They want the impossible… Those mean litttle shits

I spent a whole year making wagons and sleds

Assembling dolls….Their arms, legs, and heads

I made a ton of yo yo’s No request for them

They want computers and robots…..they think I’m IBM

If you thinks that bad…just picture this

Try holding their pants full of piss

They pull on my nose they grab at my beard

And if I don’t smile the parents think I’m wierd

Flying through the air…dodging the trees

Falling down chimmneys and skinning their knees

I’m quitting this job…there’s just no enjoyment

I’ll sit on my fat ass and draw unemployment

There’s no christmas this year…. now you know the reason

I found me a blonde …I’m going south for the season

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and God it was neat. The kids were both gone, and my wife was in heat.

The doors were all bolted, the phone off the hook, It was time for some nooky, by hook or by crook.

Momma in her teddy and I in the nude, Had just hit the bedroom and reached for the lube.

When out on the lawn there arose such a cry, That I lost my boner, and momma went dry.

Up to the window I sprang like an elf, Tore back the shade while she played with herself.

The moon on the crest of the snowman we’d built, Showed a broom up his ass, clean up to the hilt.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a rusty old sleigh and eight mangy reindeer.

With a fat little driver, half out of the sled, A sock in his ear and a bra on his head.

Sure as I’m speaking, he was high as a kite, And he yelled to his team, but it didn’t sound right.

Whoa S**thead, whoa A**hole, whoa Stupid, whoa Putz, Either slow down this rig or I’ll cut off your nuts.

Look out for the lamp post, and don’t hit the tree, Quit shaking the sleigh, ’cause I gotta go pee.

They cleared the old lamp post, the tree got a rub, Just as Santa leaned out and threw up on my shrub.

And then from the roof we heard such a clatter, As each little reindeer now emptied his bladder.

I was donning my jockeys, to cover my ass, When down the chimney Santa came with a crash.

His suit was all smelly with perfume galore, He looked like a bum and he smelled like a whore.

“That was some brothel,” he said with a smile, “The reindeer are pooped, and I’ll just stay awhile”

He walked to the kitchen for himself poured a drink, Then whipped out his pecker and pissed in the sink.

I started to laugh, my wife smiled with glee, The old boy was hung nearly down to his knee.

Back in the den, Santa reached in his sack, But his toys were all gone, and some new things were packed.

The first thing he found was a pair of false tits, The next was a handgun with a penis that spits.

A box filled with condoms was Santa’s next find, And six pair of panties, the edible kind.

A bra without nipples, a penis extension, And several more things I shouldn’t even mention.

A f**k ring, a G-string, and all types of oil, And a dildo so long that it lay in a coil. “This stuff ain’t for kids, Mrs. Santa will s**t, Do I’ll leave ‘em here, and then I’ll just split.”

He filled every stocking and then took his leave, With one tiny butt plug stuck under his sleeve.

He sprang to his sleigh, but his feet were like lead, Thus he fell on his ass and broke wind instead.

In time he was seated, took reigns of his hitch, Saying, “Take me home, Rudolf. This night’s been a bitch!”

The sleigh was near gone when we heard Santa shout, “The best thing about pussy is you can’t wear it out!!”

‘Twas the night before Christmas And all through the trailer

Not a creature was stirrin’ ‘Cept a redneck named Taylor.

His first name was Bubba, Joe was his middle,

And a-runnin’ down his chin Was a trickle of spittle.

His socks, they were hung by the chimney with care,

And therefore there was a foul stench in the air.

That Bubba got scared And rousted the boys.

There was Rufus, 12; Jim Bob was 11;

Dud goin’ on 10; Otis was 7.

John, George and Chucky Were 5,4, and 3:

The twins were both girls So they let them be.

They jumped in their overalls, No need for a shirt,

Threw a hat on each head, Then turned with a jerk.

They ran to the gun rack That hung on the wall.

There were 17 shotguns; They grabbed them all.

Bubba said to the young’uns, “Now hesh up ya’ll!

The last thing we wanna do Is wake up yer Maw.”

Maw was expecting And needed her sleep,

So out they crept out the door without making a peep.

They all looked around, and then they all spit.

The young’uns asked Bubba, “Paw, what is it?”

Bubba just stared; He could not say a word.

This was just like all of the stories he’d heard.

It was Santy Claus on the roof, Darn tootin’

But the boys didn’t know; They was about to start shootin’!

They aimed their shotguns and nearly made a mistake

That would have resulted in venison steak.

Bubba hollered out, “Don’t shoot, boys!”

That’s Santy Claus And he’s brought us some toys.

The dogs were a-barkin’ And a-raisin’ cain,

And Bubba whistled, and shouted, And called them by name.

“Down, Spot! Shut up Bullet! Quiet, Pete and Roscoe!

Git, Turnip and Tater and Sam and Bosco!”

“Git down from that porch! Git down off that wall!

Quit shakin the trailer, Or you’ll make Santy fall!”

The dogs kept a-barkin’ And wouldn’t shut up,

And they trampled poor Pete Who was only a pup.

Santy opened his bag, And threw out some toys.

Bubba got most, But left a few for the boys.

Since the guns had been dropped He just might not die.

He jumped in his sleigh, Told his reindeer to hurry.

The trailer started to wobble Santa started to worry.

Just as the reindeer Got into the air,

The trailer collapsed, But Bubba didn’t care.

He was busy lookin’ At all his new toys.

Then a thought hit him, And he said to the boys:

“Go check on yer Maw, Make sure she’s all right.

That roof fallin’ on her Could-a hurt just a might.”

But Maw was OK, And the girls were too.

They fixed up the trailer; It looked good as new.

And as for Bubba, He liked Old St. Nick,

But Santa thought Bubba Was a pure-in-tee hick!

Bubba had a nice Christmas, And the boys did, too.

And the Taylors wish A Merry Christmas to you!

Twas the night before Christmas, and God it was neat.

The kids were both gone, and my wife was in heat.

The doors were all bolted, the phone off the hook,

It was time for some nooky, by hook or by crook.

Momma in her teddy and I in the nude,

Had just hit the bedroom and reached for the lube.

When out on the lawn there arose such a cry,

That I lost my boner, and momma went dry.

Up to the window I sprang like an elf,

Tore back the shade while she played with herself.

The moon on the crest of the snowman we’d built,

Showed a broom up his ass, clean up to the hilt.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a rusty old sleigh and eight mangey reindeer.

With a fat little driver, half out of the sled,

A sock in his ear and a bra on his head.

Sure as I’m speaking, he was high as a kite,

And he yelled to his team, but it didn’t sound right.

Woa Shithead, woa Asshole, woa Stupid, woa Putz,

Either slow down this rig or I’ll cut off your nuts.

Look out for the lamp post, and don’t hit the tree,

Quit shaking the sleigh, ’cause I gotta go pee.

They cleared the old lamp post, the tree got a rub,

Just as Santa leaned out and threw up on my shrub.

And then from the roof we heard such a clatter,

As each little reindeer now emptied his bladder.

I was donning my jockies, to cover my ass,

When down the chimney Santa came with a crash.

His suit was all smelly with perfume galore,

He looked like a bum and he smelled like a whore.

“That was some brothel,” he said with a smile,

“The reindeer are pooped, and I’ll just stay awhile”

He walked to the kitchen for himself poured a drink,

Then whipped out his pecker and pissed in the sink.

I started to laugh, my wife smiled with glee,

The old boy was hung nearly down to his knee.

Back in the den, Santa reached in his sack,

But his toys were all gone, and some new things were packed.

The first thing he found was a pair of false tits,

The next was a handgun with a penis that spits.

A box filled with condoms was Santa’s next find,

And six pair of panties, the edible kind.

A bra without nipples, a penis extension,

And several more things I shouldn’t even mention.

A fuck ring, a G-string, and all types of oil,

And a dildo so long that it lay in a coil.

“This stuff ain’t for kids, Mrs. Santa will shit,

So I’ll leave ‘em here, and then I’ll just split.”

He filled every stocking and then took his leave,

With one tiny butt plug stuck under his sleeve.

He sprang to his sleigh, but his feet were like lead,

Thus he fell on his ass and broke wind instead.

In time he was seated, took reigns of his hitch,

Saying, “Take me home, Rudolf. This night’s been a bitch!”

The sleigh was near gone when we heard Santa shout,

“The best thing about pussy is you can’t wear it out!!”

Twas the night before Christmas and throughout the White House,

Al Gore was eyeing Hillary, peering into her blouse.

The Secret Service were guarding the premises with care,

for a whole host of Democrats were vacationing there.

As Chelsea was nestled all snug in her bed,

dirty thoughts swam around Mr. Kennedy’s head.

And Bill in his sportcoat; a heavy gray tweed,

had just fried his brain with some Mexican weed.

When out in the garden came a plethora of noise,

all drunken and rowdy: ’twas Newt and the boys!

Bill jumped to the window, and tore open the sash,

“It’s a raid boys!” he cried, “Quick, go hide my stash!”

The pot in his blood and the moon on the snow,

gave a psychedelic haze to the objects below.

When what to Bill’s frantic eyes should appear, but a slew

of Republicans and a keg of ice beer.

With a big House leader, all lively and fat:

He knew it was Newt, the proponent of GATT!

As viscous as vipers, the Republicans came,

and Bill recognized them and called them by name.

“Hey Helms, Hey Thurmond! Hey Packwood and Hatch!

Hey Dole and Pataki, it’s time for a bash!”

A collective cheer rose out from the crowd,

“Let’s listen to Nugent, and turn it up loud!”

Together Dems and Republicans danced and sang out in cheer

“Screw health care and Haiti, it’s time to drink beer!”

When from the chimney, came a big black cloud of soot,

as Limbaugh danced from the fireplace in a red Santa suit.

He moved through the crowd, then held up his hand,

and when all was silent, he did a keg stand.

And the crowd raised their cups, as Newt bowed down in prayer,

and champagne flowed freely, just like welfare.

As Kennedy and Reno romped in the Green Room,

the rest of the crooks outlined their plan of doom.

“We’ll pray in the schools, shove it down their throats!”

“More welfare, more taxes, we’ll still get the votes!”

And they drank, hugged and danced, they crossed party lines.

They cheered, “It doesn’t matter, we’re all bastard swines!”

So they threw out allegiance and partisan crap,

and they took turns sitting on the President’s lap.

And Gephardt and Dole passed out on the lawn,

and awoke in the morning without their pants on.

And Packwood gave Tipper a pat on the rear.

While Judge Thomas and Miss Hill went out for more beer.

Then the party-ers discovered a sight so touching and cute,

President Clinton fast asleep, snuggled up next to Newt.

Santa Limbaugh smiled and threw up on his boots,

“A merry Clinton to all, and to all a good Newt!”

What’s long and hard and a Polish man gives it to his bride on their wedding night?

A last name.

So … the other day, my friends and I went to this “Ladies Night

Club.”

One of the girls wanted to impress us, so she pulls out a $10 bill.

The “dancer” came over to us, and my friend licked the $10 and put

it on his butt cheek.

Not to be outdone, another friend pulls out a $20 bill. She calls

the guy back over, licks the $20 bill and puts it on his other butt

cheek. Still attempting to impress the rest of us, my other friend

pulls out a $50 bill. She calls the guy back over again, licks the

$50 bill and again puts it on one of his butt cheeks. Now the

attention is focused on me. What could I do to top that?

I got out my wallet, thought for a minute … and then the financial

analyst in me took over. I got out my ATM card, swiped it down the

crack of his ass, grabbed the $80 bucks and went home!

A Night Before Christmas Parody (Technical Version)

‘Twas the nocturnal segment of the diurnal period preceding the annual Yuletide celebration, and throughout our place of residence, kinetic activity was not in evidence among the possessors of this potential, including that species of domestic rodent known as Musmusculus.

Hosiery was meticulously suspended from the forward edge of the wood burning caloric apparatus, pursuant to our anticipatory pleasure regarding an imminent visitation from an eccentric philanthropist among whose folkloric appellations is the honorific title of St. Nicholas.

The prepubescent siblings, comfortably ensconced in their respective accommodations of repose, were experiencing subconscious visual hallucinations of variegated fruit confections moving rhythmically through their cerebrums.

My conjugal partner and I, attired in our nocturnal head coverings, were about to take slumberous advantage of the hibernal darkness when upon the avenaceous exterior portion of the grounds there ascended such a cacophony of dissonance that I felt compelled to arise with alacrity from my place of repose for the purpose of ascertaining the precise source thereof.

Hastening to the casement, I forthwith opened the barriers sealing this fenestration, noting thereupon that the lunar brilliance without, reflected as it was on the surface of a recent crystalline precipitation, might be said to rival that of the solar meridian itself – thus permitting my incredulous optical sensory organs to behold a miniature airborne runnered conveyance drawn by eight diminutive specimens of the genus Rangifer, piloted by a minuscule, aged chauffeur so ebullient and nimble that it became instantly apparent to me that he was indeed our anticipated caller.

With his ungulate motive power travelling at what may possibly have been more vertiginous velocity than patriotic alar predators, he vociferated loudly, expelled breath musically through contracted labia, and addressed each of the octet by his or her respective cognomen – “Now Dasher, now Dancer…” et al. – guiding them to the uppermost exterior level of our abode, through which structure I could readily distinguish the concatenations of each of the 32 cloven pedal extremities.

As I retracted my cranium from its erstwhile location, and was performing a 180-degree pivot, our distinguished visitant achieved – with utmost celerity and via a downward leap – entry by way of the smoke passage.

He was clad entirely in animal pelts soiled by the ebony residue from oxidations of carboniferous fuels which had accumulated on the walls thereof.

His resemblance to a street vendor I attributed largely to the plethora of assorted playthings which he bore dorsally in a commodious cloth receptacle.

His orbs were scintillant with reflected luminosity, while his submaxillary dermal indentations gave every evidence of engaging amiability.

The capillaries of his malar regions and nasal appurtenance were engorged with blood which suffused the subcutaneous layers, the former approximating the coloration of Albion’s floral emblem, the latter that of the Prunus avium, or sweet cherry.

His amusing sub- and supralabials resembled nothing so much as a common loop knot, and their ambient hirsute facial adornment appeared like small, tabular and columnar crystals of frozen water.

Clenched firmly between his incisors was a smoking piece whose grey fumes, forming a tenuous ellipse about his occiput, were suggestive of a decorative seasonal circlet of holly.

His visage was wider than it was high, and when he waxed audibly mirthful, his corpulent abdominal region undulated in the manner of impectinated fruit syrup in a hemispherical container.

He was, in short, neither more nor less than an obese, jocund, multigenarian gnome, the optical perception of whom rendered me visibly frolicsome despite every effort to refrain from so being.

By rapidly lowering and then elevating one eyelid and rotating his head slightly to one side, he indicated that trepidation on my part was groundless.

Without utterance and with dispatch, he commenced filling the aforementioned appended hosiery with various of the aforementioned articles of merchandise extracted from his aforementioned previously dorsally transported cloth receptacle.

Upon completion of this task, he executed an abrupt about- face, placed a single manual digit in lateral juxtaposition to his olfactory organ, inclined his cranium forward in a gesture of leave-taking, and forthwith effected his egress by renegotiating (in reverse) the smoke passage.

He then propelled himself in a short vector onto his conveyance, directed a musical expulsion of air through his contracted oral sphincter to the antlered quadrupeds of burden, and proceeded to soar aloft in a movement hitherto observable chiefly among the seed-bearing portions of a common weed. But I overheard his parting exclamation, audible immediately prior to his vehiculation beyond the limits of visibility:

“Ecstatic Yuletide to the planetary constituency, and to that self same assemblage, my sincerest wishes for a salubriously beneficial and gratifyingly pleasurable period between sunset and dawn.”

HO! HO! HO!