Mad lib. Thank you Veronica, Hanzo, and Garguilo.
'Twas the month before Christmas, and all through the hole,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a horse.
The shirts were hung by the couch with care,
In hopes that St. Veronica soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their footstools,
While visions of sugar-anchovies danced in their vaginas.
And grandmother in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the desk to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
#l open the shutters, and #m up the sash. played open the shutters, and ran up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave the luster of mid-millisecond to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear?
But a red anthony, and eight tiny kangaroos.
With a little old driver, so lively and tall,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Veronica.
More rapid than raptors (the bird) his kangaroos they came,
And he whistled, and attacked, and called them by name;
"Now, Dasher! Now, Hanzo! Now, Gym and Vixen!
On, Haz! On Falcon! On, Sock and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! To the top of the poop!
Now decompose away! Decompose away! Decompose away all!"
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the couch St. Veronica came with a bound.
His eyes -- how they jumped! His dimples, how tropical!
His feathers were like cars, his wing like a spaghetti!
He spoke not a word but went straight to his work,
And filled all the shirts, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his kneecap,
And giving a nod, up the couch he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a thunder,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good month!"