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FRANK HASKINS   Frank Haskins

'Twas the Night I Got Fucked


Silent Night, Shitty Night

by Major Henry Livingston Jr. and Frank Haskins

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
The only "gift" delivered was the shit from a mouse.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
Later ignited by stray embers there.

The kids were nestled all snug in their beds,
'Til they snuck out to party with some other potheads.

My soon-to-be-ex-wife, under blanket of down,
Was humping her boyfriend somewhere across town.

When out on the lawn there arose such a hiss,
"Some college kids," I figured, "just taking a piss."

Away to the window I flew like a flash,
And smashed two fingers as I lifted the sash.

The moonlight glistened against a urine stream's glow
While eight tiny reindeer took a dump in my snow.

When what to my wandering eye should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and a driver with a beer.

"Get off my lawn," I yelled pretty quick,
Then came his reply, "Don't be such a prick."

More rapid than creditors his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and cursed them by name.

"Now, DASHER! now, DANCER! now, move, you lame turkeys!
Get your asses going, or you'll become venison jerky!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Get the fuck up there! Before this shithouse does fall!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to the house-top those big bastards flew,
With a sleigh full of shit gifts, and old Asshole too.

And then, in a crunching, I heard on the roof
Thirty-two ripped shingles, one from each little hoof.

As I chased after his ass, that bastard he hid,
Down through the chimney, the old jerkoff slid.

He was dressed all in fur, red pants with tight fit,
Like one of the Village People, with ashes and shit.

A bundle of crap he had flung on his back,
He moved like an Amway rep, coming in to attack.

His pupils -- how they dilated! his leather -- how scary!
This bum looked like a big drunken fairy!

His droll little mouth spoke like a old trucker,
I went to grab his beard and beat the old fucker.

The stump of a cheap stogie was in his teeth with a clench,
And the smoke from it reeked with a horrible stench.

He had a broad face and a major beer gut,
That he blamed on the lunch buffet at Pizza Hut.

He was drunk and sloppy, a real friggin' mess
Kind of like my ex-wife, in her wedding-day dress.

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know this night I would dread.

He slurred all his words, while trying to work,
Put Chia Pets in the stockings; then like a jerk,

Laying his middle finger aside of his nose,
He flipped me the bird, and up the chimney he rose.

He staggered to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like an out-of-control missile.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,


Now should you complain that your Christmas sucked,
At least you're not Frank Haskins, so you didn't get fucked.

(Reported by Miles Walker)

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