The Night After Christmas

’Twas the night after Christmas, and all through the barn not a creature was farting, it was perfectly calm. The horses were munching on freshly spread hay, while the cow was keeping the old bull at bay. The chickens were nestled all snug in a row, while the horny old rooster paced to and fro. And the ass in his stall, and the goat in his too, were munching on hay — not much else to do. When out in the field there arose such a din, it frightened the shit out of all those within. They flew to the door with a bang and a bump; the goat’s face got stuck in the cow’s chubby rump. Cow patties splattered on new-fallen snow, gave off a bad hum in the moon’s soft blue glow. When what to the barn dwellers’ eyes should appear, but a rickety old sleigh and some beer-drinking deer. With a fat little driver stretched out in the rig, as if the old bastard didn’t give a sweet frig. Slower than turtles the deer pulled the guy, while he cursed at them all from way up in the sky. “Come on, you bitches, move it, I say! Or you ain’t gettin’ one single mouthful of hay! To the top of the barn, and make it real quick; my bladder is spastic and I gotta piss!” As dry leaves that fly when the wind is real high, and sometimes get stuck in cow-patty pie, up to the barn roof the drunken deer flew, with a sleigh full of puke and the fat guy too. And the cow started sprinkling when she heard a loud poof, for the fat man had farted on top of the roof. As they drew in their heads and pissed on the floor, the deer and the fat man burst in through the door. The old man was dressed in a heavy wool knit, and his shoes were all covered with puke and deer shit. A twelve-pack of beer he had flung on his back as he stood there scratching his arse and his sack. His eyes — they were bloodshot. His dimples were hairy. His cheeks were all stained with dry puke and cheap sherry. His foul-smelling beard was scraggly and thin; and his breath smelled like shit and stale vodka and gin. He had a weird shape with a grossly fat belly that shook when he farted at the old horse called Nelly. He was stout and disgusting — what a mess he was in, but in the old stinky barn he oddly fit in. He blinked his eye — piece of dung stuck in it, but none of the animals gave a sweet shit. He didn’t say much as he sucked back his beer, drinking and farting with his mangy old deer. Then laying his finger inside of his nose and giving a burp got more beer on his clothes. He got in his sleigh, gave his deer some white crystals, and they took off like bullets when he shot off his pistol. And he laughed and he farted at the drunken deer’s fright, “You idiot bastards, I said to turn right!”