Merry Christmas all... even you sad sack trolls. HO HO Bloody...

Merry Christmas all... even you sad sack trolls.

HO HO Bloody HO.
December 24, North Pole somewhere,
dozes an obese and haggard soul.
His red coat smells like the fortified wine,
from a house last year he stole.

The countdown began at midnight,
to his dreaded annual curse.
His left eye reluctantly opens,
with the vigor of a Scotsmans purse.

Maintaining his prone posture ,
He opens the laptop with his toe.
Confronted with 10 billion emails,
he snarls "ho ho bloody ho."

He sighs then barks at Stan the elf.
his loyal 2IC.

"Print that list, feed the dear,
help me up I need to pee."

Stan beams an enthusiastic grin and says "With pleasure my old friend.
I can't wait to see what the kiddies want,
the new fashions and the trends."

As old Nic gathers his feet beneath him,
his displeasure clearly on show.
"Same crap as every year I'd suggest
. ho ho bloody ho."

In strows vibrant Mrs Claus,
greeting Stan with a respectful glance.
At Nic she screems,"For Rudolphs sake,
put on some fecking pants."

"You've had tewelve months to recover,
stop being such a sook.
you'll pull yourself together man,
this will happen by hook or by crook.
You only work one day a year,
and you better put on a good show.
You'll wash your hair and brush your teeth,
and you'll say ho ho bloody ho."

So as old Santa heads for the shower,
facing another year under duress.
It's to Mrs Claus and to Stan,
Our gratitude we must express.
For without these two the fatman,
would still be complaining about the snow.
No joy to the world would be delivered,
with his begrudging ho ho bloody ho.