Twas the Night before Curlmas
and all through the thread,
Not a hand was not trembling
Not a hair on the head
One man was nestled, all snug on his pot;
Pringles and orange roughy, should have been not.
And the maid with her uppers; and the knees, bone one bone,
Knew when Clegg Claus came, a Curler'd be prone;
When out near the test bottles, there arose such a clatter,
I sprang to my screen to see what was the matter.
Cramping and shaking, dehydration and squirts,
I tore to the thread to see "God, now what hurts?"
But there was no new selfie, no new lie to be told,
He LIED near his Gatorade, with sheets all afold,
A new Curl Tshirt all sullied, covered in dread,
Ring light revealing, Bhanks shit the bed.
"Now, Wes! now, Joswift! now IroNat and webstar!
On, Flexacon! on, Krankenstein! on, Crusher and Walter!
To the top of the pool table! His back's off the wall!
Now squirt away! shart away! shit blood away all!"