'Twas the night before douchemas,
and all through the house,
not a scrotebag was stirring,
not even this hairy sleeveless shirt wearing tool.

Okay that's it on the poem, there's no way I'm attempting the next seven verses when I feel like I've been kicked in the head by too many Rolling Rocks. Can't get a Rolling Rock on the West Coast so gotta stock up and abuse the liver while I'm here.

This sweet reindeer won't survive long. Note the Izod with collars about to pop up like a hungry titmouse on Christmas morn.

Yeah, I just analogized a collar to a titmouse. Because it's the holidays. And when I'm looking at a mustachioed tool like this oval headed Village Person, I can do that.

I do appreciate anyone who wears the Snake Plissken shirt, tho.

Merry Christmas!! And to all a 'bagless and hottie filled night.