A Poem about something or nothing...

Twas a couple weeks before Christmas, when all through the clubhouse
Not a creature was stirring, not even a prospect.
The cuts were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that (redacted) soon would be there.

The wannabes were nestled all snug in their cages,
While visions of prospect status danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘handcuffs, and I in my Bondage Gear,
Had just settled on our safe word for a long winter’s romp.

When out in the parking lot there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the Love Swing to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I slid like a well oiled servant,
Tore open the Leather covered shutters and threw up the evening meatloaf.

The moon on the breasts of the neighborhood working girls
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my bloodshot eyes should appear,
But a miniature Road Glide, and eight tinny hookers.

With a little old rider, so drunk and disorderly,
I knew in a moment it must be (redacted).
More rapid than a Dyna his coursers they came,
And he howled, and screamed, and belittled them by name!

"Now Chantal! now, Candy! now, Passion and Precious!
On, Raven! On, Cherry! on, on Bambi and Barbie!
To the top of the Ultra! to the top of the Road King!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

So up to the clubhouse-top the coursers they flew,
With the Road Glide full of Adult Toys, and (redacted) too.

And then, in a moaning, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hooker hoof.
As I removed my clamps, and was whipping around,
Down the chimney (redacted) came with a thud.

He was dressed all in fur, from his Fetish hood to his spurs,
And his clothes were all tarnished with who knows what.
A bundle of Adult Toys he had stapled on his back,
And he looked like a dealer, just opening his pack.

His eyes-barely opened! his dimples pierced!
His cheeks looked freshly smacked, his nose broken!
His toothless little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as yellow as the snow.

He had a pudgy face and a fat round belly,
That shook when he coughed, like a bowlful of spiked punch from a prom!

He was short and fat, a right miserable old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
The closing of his eyes and a bob of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to lighting up,
And filled all the cuts with bottles, then turned with a swagger.
And putting his finger deep inside his nose,
And giving a cough, out the front door he went!

He jumped onto his Road Glide, to his team gave a belch,
And away they all flew to the next Poker run.
But I heard him utter as he weaved out of sight,
"Who are all you people and what are you doing in my Living Room!"

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