‘Twas the night before Christmas and on every iPhone
The hook-up apps were buzzing with men who felt alone.
Their stockings hung limply, no fire in their grate
But their fingers were typing: “Hi,” “Alright, mate?”
And suddenly Christmas, so cold and so heinous
Began slowly to thaw through the power of Venus.
“What u up 2?” asked one – “Not much,” t’other replied
As his chestnuts started roasting ‘twixt his festive thighs
“Not much?” thought young Tom, “Well, I’ll soon change that”
And he sent him a nude in a Santa Claus hat.
With a whoop, John received it, and leapt to his feet
Rushed over to the window and looked out at the street
Though outside winter snow past the lampposts was falling
Inside it was hot – but his pubes were appalling.
Kicking tinsel aside with his frantic young feet,
“Come round in 10” he replied, as he groped for the veet.
“Gr8, send location. BTW, r u smooth?”
“I’ll send him a hole-pic, his worries to soothe”
But as his hairless derriere winged its way through the air
Came a problem: though he squeezed, no more veet was there there.
“OMG!” cried the twink, “Bloody hell, ain’t it tough?
He wanted me ass smooth, he won’t want it rough!
If only there was something – someone I could turn to!”
“Ho ho ho” said a voice, “Merry Xmas to you!”
From up by the chimney came a crash and a clatter
As eight great fat reindeer and one even fatter
Old bear hit the roof – “Love a night on the tiles!
Quick, pass me a pie: I’ve been mincing for miles”
“Could it be, is it him?” gasped our unshorn hero
“That voice is as jolly as a double-mulled-five-spiced-chai-soy-latte from Café Nero!”
With a house-shaking thud, first a bum, then a face
Plopped down firm and resounding in his fireplace.
“Ho ho ho – oh, pardon me, there’s just one of you, not three”
Cried the soot-streaked old vision ‘neath the twinkling’s Christmas tree.
“I heard you a-wailing ‘bout your hairy knick-knacks,
And hark! Lo! Behold! I bring a strip of wax!”
“Outside now” came the message from John’s paramour
“Not a minute too soon! Quick, I’m one hairy whore!”
And so Santa’s experienced hands grasped his sack
And where once there was hairy excess was hair-lack.
“WTF?” Tom cried, “Who’s this doddering old codger?”
“Oh he’s no one!” John replied, “Just my venerable lodger.”
“Lodger my eye!” boomed the angry St Nick
“Why, I’ve just plucked your plump Christmas turkey, you prick!”
“Wait a sec,” Tom exclaimed, “Now I look at you twice
It’s you, innit Santa – old naughty-or-nice.
Since you’ve been instrumental in smoothing my way,
Why don’t you join us for a roll in the hay?”
Well, the jolly old man flushed and twinkled his eyes
And as he got busy between the twink’s thighs
He was heard to exclaim as he thrust out of sight
“Merry Christmas to all – and good God, this is tight!”