The Day After Christmas
Bitten by rabid gimmick Bunny… (I probably need shots, now)
The Day After Christmas
‘Twas the day after Christmas,
And in a bookstore,
An angel and demon
Lay entwined on the floor;
Their socks were abandoned,
As were most of their clothes,
Naked as jay-birds,
Save for rolled-over bows;
Their skin was all sweaty
They panted for breath
For the tenth time that day
They achieved "little death."
And the blond he did freeze,
And the demon did shout.
Then they settled their brains
After blowing them out.
But the angel, (on top),
fell off with a clatter.
The wild-eyed demon yelled
"What the fuck is the matter?"
Away to the window Az flew
in a dash,
Peeked over the shutters
(To avoid public "flash").
Crowley leered at his backside
All pinkish and round
Stole up behind him
And against it he ground.
When what to his reptilian eyes did appear
But eight wandering archangels
Quite far in their beer.
Aziraphale turned, so
lively and quick.
Looking at his lover
(Then an erect prick.) *Sorry, but how could I not use this to rhyme with St. Nick?
"Put on your pants!"
Az gasped, cheeks quite rosy,
"God knows that Archangels
Are incredibly nosey!"
"There’s Michael and Rapheal,
And all of the rest."
"For the love of Someone,
Please lets get dressed!"
He upset table and chairs
And scurried ‘round the room
Trying hard not to think
Of their impending doom.
As loud as the thunder
that fills up the sky
The archangels sent up
A brash drunken cry.
"Oh Azi," they yelled
"you Great Southern Poof
Let’s all have a drink
And dance on your roof."
And then with a crash
And breaking the door
Eight wasted angels
Collapsed on the floor.
Az poked his head
From behind the desk
And with world-weary sigh
He took in the mess.
But Crowley he stood there,
In Armani suit.
Observing the scene
He let out a hoot.
"They’re really plastered"
He said with a chuckle.
"I think we’re safe
So come out of your hovel."
Crowley’s eyes they did twinkle
As he walked ‘cross the store
"Angels can’t dance,
But there’s booze here galore."
Az quickly dressed
(He was red tartan clothed)
And staring at Crowley
(His face fairly glowed.)
Azi shot him a look
That would have cut glass
As the demon helped up
The archangelic mass.
"What are you thinking?"
Az hissed between teeth.
"I have no wish here
To wind up *beneath*"
But Crowley just laughed
Swatted his behind
"Don’t worry, my angel
They’re too drunk to mind."
A wink of the eye
And a bottle appeared
Crowley poured them all brandy
"To the joyous New Year."
"And Christmas!" One yelled
As they emptied their mugs
Crowley then whispered
"What disgusting lugs."
Az nodded and drank quickly his brandy
For some of the angels
Had begun to get randy.
Hands flew ‘round groping
In unseemly ways
(Seems A and C weren’t alone
in this whole "effort" phase).
The angel was uncomfortable
The demon he giggled.
"Guess you’re not the only angel
Who wants to get diddled."
Aziraphale turned away
and confronted the Host
"What are you doing here,
away from your post?"
Michael looked o’er at him
"Got a day off…" he slurred
"…thought we’d visit the poof."
Raphael purred.
"We figured that you two,
Had been at it for aeons
So we all decided its high time
That We get *our* play on."
The color rode high
On Aziraphale’s cheek
"Today was the first time."
(His voice was quite meek.)
The angels all stopped
"No way!" they all said.
And Crowley, quite distinctly,
Wished he was dead.
(He was the King of Seduction
The master of wiles
His lack of speed would be noted
In infernal files).
"Alright sodding angels
get the fuck out.
You’ve quite ruined the day."
Crowley’s voice raised to a shout
With no further word
but quite heated stares
The demon hurled the group
Onto angelic derrieres.
Then off with a "humph"
Crowley put shades on his nose
And settled himself
In a "poor-little-me" pose.
"Its all right, my dear."
Azi’s hands fluffed black hair
"Our love is special
We’re an Original pair."
And plump little hands
Little black buttons, plucked
"Let’s make up for lost time
I’d like to get fucked."
And the store didn’t open,
For far longer than a week
(Turns out six thousand years
Is a sexual peak).
But each year thereafter,
A and C would toast their most pleasurable of habits
A Happy Day-After-Christmas, they’d cheer,
And go at it like rabbits.
Well, rhyming is a whole hell of a lot harder than I remember. Anyway, apologies made to the original author of "Night Before Christmas" (This is what St. Nick never intended). And apologies made for making it a bit longer than the original and for the unbalanced rhythm… But I hope you enjoy it on this day after Christmas J.