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I realise that this poem has been spoofed to death -- but it's Christmas time so I'm going to roll out one of my own. So there. NOTE: This wasn't meant to be anywhere near as dark as it turned out!
Twas
Twas the night before Christmas and outside the cottage
came a great noise from a misuse of Wattage.
For in the front yard was a massive array
of lights which included a large moving sleigh. The children can't sleep, not 'cause they're excited
but due to the way that their room is alighted
by two thousand bulbs hung over the tree
which even with eyes closed the poor kids can see. And as if this house could ever be missed --
A large neon light showing santa get kissed
lies under a sack swinging left and then right
which looks like a scrotum -- a terrible sight. While Dad has some final adjustments to make,
he smiles in the knowledge that this year he'll take
the prize for the most dazzling house hold display
and an electric bill he has no way to pay. Meanwhile he sees Santa, land on the roof
but poor Donna gets wire caught in up her hoof
so while Father Christmas untangles the mess
and Donna begins to feel more and more stress. She rears up and kicks Father Christmas aside
and down off the roof the fat man does slide
into the the lights which begin to impart
Two hundred and fourty volts to his heart. He slowly unwinds like some freaky yo-yo
and the kids see Saint Nick dropping past the window.
Just as he sparks and he flames and he dies
They get that stark image burnt into their eyes. And then each December on the twenty fourth
when no longer a hero flies down from the North
those kids sit in silence by low candle light
so people won't think they killed Santa that night.
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