Why I Never Get Madlibs for Christmas Anymore

Twas the night before I IMPREGNATED YOUR MOM, and all through the BUTT,

Not a POOP was BARFING, not even a SCROTUM.

The ETHNIC MINORITIES were hung by the TREE with care,

In hopes that RETARDS soon would be there;

The children were BEATING OFF all snug in their beds,

While visions of YOUR MOM danced in their heads.

When, what to my wondering ANUS should appear,

But a miniature COCK, and eight tiny BALLS.

“Now, BUTT! now, BUTTMUNCH! now, MORON and BUTTCHEESE!

On, POOP! on POOPER! on, DANDER and FECES!

He spoke not a word, but went straight to TAKING A DUMP IN THE MIDDLE OF MY LIVING ROOM,

And laying a finger INSIDE his nose,

And giving a BLOWJOB, up the TOILET he rose;

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

GO SUCK A DICK, and to all a good-night.”

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