The Night Before Christmas

Today, if you’re a child, you’ll be eagerly anticipating the joy that tomorrow will bring. If you’re an adult, you’re probably sick and tired of the festive season and worrying about getting the presents wrapped up and the food prepared in time.

Either way, I thought I’d share a ticced poem with you to make sure you keep up your level of enthusiasm for the big day. So relax, pour yourself a festive drink and join me on a journey though the night before Christmas…..


The night before Christmas –
And all through the dogs –
Your mum cut a pig up
And some festive Yule log.

The night before Christmas,
The dog and the horse
Sat down for dinner
With an elephant main course.

The champagne was flowing,
The mice tiptoed up the stairs,
They crept into the bed
And fucked goats for forty-eight years
(with a Christmas sock on).

There was a little donkey with Christmas socks on,
He was sitting by the fireside
Smoking a pipe and knitting a costume for Ant and Dec.

The night before Christmas,
The house was full of leopard-skin-print pyjamas
And some presents for God.
And all the little children were watching Rod Hull and Emu.

The Muppets Christmas Carol
Rang out through the night,
And eighteen sinners fucked a goat on X Factor –
Because it’s a plight of bears.

The night before Christmas,
The town was all still,
The Romans were running, running up and down a windmill
In leotards because it was for a telethon.

The night before Christmas,
The sucking sound of your mum was a bit too powerful.

The night before Christmas,
I hoovered the stairs,
I sat down with a Chinese take away
And forty-eight bears.

The night before Christmas,
I wore a little coat made of skis,
And Romans and hedgehogs
Sat down on my knee.

I said, ‘What would you like for Christmas hedgehog?’
He said in a gruff America accent,
‘I want to fuck a goat.’

All through Christmas,
The champagne was flowing,
The hedge funds were falling,
Around armadillos toes.

The night before Christmas,
We sit and go to sleep,
In front of the telly
And wish for Noel Edmonds.

And really we shouldn’t wish for
Noel Edmonds, Jeremy Beadle and a pariah
And a couple of Priory Sandwiches.
Oh Brian. Oh Brian. What about Brian?

The night before Christmas,
It was like a Disney cartoon
With so many animals all sucking my toes.

The night before Christmas,
And all through the night,
The town was covered in tinsel
Like a pyjama party for a hedgehog.

The little Christmas tree was sparkling,
The donkey was sucking up,
The hedgehogs were laughing,
And the Bagpuss lookalike was a Santa in disguise.

All through the Christmas,
The Flashdance was flowing.
The horses and bears – money box ¬–
Everybody raid their money boss ‘till Christmas.

What about a money boss?
It’s like a moneybox, but for bosses.

Don’t get into a Christmas Triangle scheme,
It’s where Christmas loads up itself with Christmas
And then sucks it out over Christmas pudding and New Year sheep.

Oh Brian,
I’m a bit unstable about horse.

Traditionally I would eat a sheep at Christmas,
But sometimes I’ll eat a Frishy.

You might wonder what a Frishy is.
It’s like a Frishy.
It’s like a refresher but with curly hair.

Santa, Frishy, Nana,
What about bears?

I think that’s the end of the Christmas poem about goats,
And limited access to history.

And all through the night,
The Santa Claus was crying,
Because he was overworked
And working outside the European Working Times Directory.

Santa needs a break,
Santa needs a break every four hours,
For at least twenty minutes.

Santa needs a break every four hours for at least twenty minutes,
It cuts down the efficiency. Santa.
Cuts down the efficiency motherfucker.


The night before Christmas,
I took a deep breath.
I climbed the stairs and said,
‘Well we’ll see what happens next.’

Night, night motherfuckers.
Shatterday, it’s like Saturday but when you’re really tired.


What do you think? Are you full of good cheer again? I hope your Christmas Eve’s as exciting as this and that you wake up tomorrow to find Santa has been able to deliver your presents in spite of being utterly worn out.

Festive Outburst:
“Line up with the llamas and queue for Santa.”

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