Thursday, 25 December 2014

Twas the night before Christmas

I wrote this for a special friend and Sharky-Toothed agent. Thought I'd share it here with you guys. Merry Christmas, everyone.

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the reef,
a shark was heard crying, distraught with grief.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
but a thief had been, and now they were bare.

He had taken the toys, and even the cakes,
not just the real ones, but even the fakes.
Left there to distract him, for she knew he would come,
For those chocolate cakes, and a bottle of rum.

She would catch him, if it took her all night,
and then take out her frustrations, bite after bite.
But the thief was smart, he knew there’d be traps,
he’d come prepared, and avoided the zaps.

Oh, come on, what kind of shark rigs their fake cakes up to the mains electricity?
Someone should report that.

The Shark kept on crying, the thief had escaped,
with those cakes, she had lovingly baked.
The minion had gone, and she didn’t care,
away on her holiday, she’d escaped from the lair.

But unknown to the Shark, the minion was near,
(Outside in the bushes drinking alcoholic egg-nog to keep warm)
Let’s just say she was full of Christmas cheer.
The minion knew, the Shark’s plan would not work,
so stayed outside to catch the burke.

"Yes, you’re a burke," the minion yelled. "A horrible, stupid, burke."
Then fell to her knees and wretched up five hours of booze.
"You don’t steal from the Shark," the minion shouted, between wretches.
"She’s my fweind. I loves her. You a nasty man.
I loves you. I loves everyone. Oooh, a slug.
Can someone hold my hair to keep it out the vomit?
I’m never drinking again.
Bruaaaaaagh. Oh, I feel bad. Really bad.
I need to...."

The minion passed out, she couldn’t handle her drink,
and to make matters worse, her breath, it doth stink.
The Shark, she did smile, so proud of her friend,
although covered in sick, a bonus, she’d recommend.

She glared at the thief, he deserved some pain,
she backed up a few paces, and then took aim.
A short run-up, and then a large swing,
her foot to his nuts, she did bring.

He instantly crumpled, his hands clasped his balls,
"Oh, God," he cried, "You’ve killed my crown jewels."
The Shark grabbed her minion, and inside she did went,
satisfied the thief, was no longer a gent.

No more crying was heard, in the house that night,
for Santa had been, and things were just right.
There were toys and sweets, even some cakes,
all of them real, none of them fakes.

Merry Christmas to the Shark, I hope you have fun,
with all those cakes and plenty of rum.
Spare a thought for the minion, she works really hard,
she deserves a gift, or, come on, at least a card.


No comments: