The Night Before Christmas
With somber and tormented apologies to Clement C. Moore
'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through our house
was blasting the "St. Vitus Dance" by Bauhaus;
Torn fishnets were draped on my forearms with care,
And two cans of Aquanet applied to my hair;
My thoughts were of graveyards, and horror and dread,
Black visions of pain and despair in my head;
And Bianca, whose face was as pale as the moon,
Had thrown up her arm for this evening's swoon,
When out by the gravestones there came such a clatter,
I sprang from the coffin to find out the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a ghost,
Expecting to find a dark devilish host.
The moon on the breast of the uncaring snow
Threw ominous shadows on objects below,
When, before my tormented eyes did traverse,
But a gorgeous black Crane & Breed carved-panel hearse,
With a gaunt, shrouded driver, who filled me with fear,
And eight skeletal creatures that might have been deer.
More rapid than vultures his coursers they came,
And his deep Andrew Eldritch voice called them by name;
Now, Murphy! Now, Morgoth! Now, Torment and Woe!
On, Dreadful! On, Lovecraft! Mephisto and Poe!
To the top of the gravestones where fog wisps its breath!
With a weight on my soul I consign you to death!
As dead leaves that before hellish hurricanes fly,
When they flutter like giant bats' wings to the sky,
So up to the crypt-top the coursers they leapt,
While dearest Bianca, like death, still but slept.
And then, to my horror, I heard on the roof
The clicking and scratching of each bone-white hoof.
As I drew in my arm, and was whirling around,
Down the ebony chimney he came without sound.
He was clad all in black, and he looked oh-so-goth,
A billowy ensemble of crushed velvet cloth;
His boots were knee-high, quite buckled and zipped,
And the Spandex and fishnets 'round his legs were ripped.
His eyes glowed with bluish fire, deathly and cold,
A black eye-liner'd face neither youthful nor old.
A broad lipless mouth drawn with torment and hurt,
And his sorrowful face was as white as my shirt.
A smoldering cigarette tight in his grasp,
Its smoke curling eerily 'round his cloak clasp;
His gaunt frame was topped with long ebon hair,
And a sharp scent of brimstone and cloves choked the air.
His arms were outspread in the shape of a cross,
And I quailed when I saw him, feeling sorrow and loss;
He narrowed his eyes with a twist of his head,
And I felt the full weight of his angst and dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his task,
Left some Dead Can Dance CD's; before I could ask,
A single tear fell across his aquiline nose,
And then, like an angel, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his hearse, to his team he then hissed,
And away they all drifted like early dawn's mist.
But I heard him intone, ere he vanished from sight,
"Gothic Christmas to all, and to all a good fright!"
How the Goth Stole Christmas
(with apologies to the late, great Dr. Seuss)
Every Who Down in Who-ville
Liked Christmas a lot...
But the Goth,
Who lived just north of Whoville,
Did NOT!
The Goth hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season!
Now, please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason.
It could be his face wasn't made up just right.
It could be, perhaps, that his Docs were too tight.
But I think the most likely reason of all
May have been that in August, there were Elves in the mall.
But,
Whatever the reason,
His Docs or the mall,
He stood there on Christmas Eve, hating it all.
Staring down from his lair, with a sour gothy frown
At the warm lighted windows below in their town.
For he knew every Who down in Who-ville beneath
Was busy now, hanging a mistletoe wreath.
"And they're hanging their stockings," he said with a pout.
"They're not even *fishnets* for crying out loud!"
Then he growled, with his fingertips nervously drumming,
"I must find some way to stop Christmas from coming!"
For,
Tomorrow, he knew...
...All the Who girls and boys.
Would wake long before sunset. They'd rush for their toys!
And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the Noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!
"That's one thing I hate! It's really quite loud.
"It's worse than a rivethead blasting Merzbow!
"
Then the Whos, young and old, would sit down to a feast.
And they'd feast! And they'd feast!
And they'd FEAST!
FEAST!
FEAST!
FEAST!
They would feast on Who-pudding, and rare Who-roast-beast
Which was something the goth couldn't stand in the least.
And THEN
They'd do something
He liked least of all!
Every Who down in Who-ville, the tall and the small,
Would walk outside (after finishing their cena)
They'd stand close together, and do the Macarena!
And the more the goth thought 'bout this Who-Christmas-Dancin',
The more the goth thought "This is worse than M. Manson!
"Why, for twenty-three years I've put up with it now!
"I MUST stop this Christmas from coming!
...But HOW?"
Then he got an idea!
A spooky idea!
THE GOTH GOT A SINISTER, SPOOKY IDEA!
"I know just what to do!" the goth said in the gloom.
And he made a black velvety Santa costume.
And he cackled, and wailed "What a great gothy plan!
"With an outfit like this, I'll take all that I can!"
"All I need is a reindeer..."
"The goth looked around.
But, since reindeer are scarce, there was none to be found.
But, did that stop the goth?
No! The Goth simply said,
"If I can't find a reindeer, I'll make one instead!"
So he called his cat, Curse. Then he took some black lace,
And he tied a big horn on the side of his face.
THEN
He loaded some bags
Into the back of his hearse.
(A ramshackle car,
To which he tied Curse.)
Then the goth revved the engine,
And Curse started to run.
Down to Who-ville they went
To steal their fun.
All their windows were dark. Quiet snow filled the air.
All the Whos were naively dreaming without care.
When he came to the first little house on the square.
"This is stop number one," the old Gothy Claus hissed
And he climbed to the roof, empty bags in his fist.
Then he slid down the chimney. Which could have been hectic
Except that the goth was quite anorexic.
He got stuck only once, for a moment or two.
Then he stuck his head out of the fireplace flue
Where the little Who stockings all hung in a row.
"These stockings," he grinned, "Are the first things to go!"
Then he slithered and slunk, with a smile most unpleasant,
Around the whole room, and he took every present!
Siouxsie and Sisters tapes! Eyeliner! Shoes!
Nail polish! Thigh-high boots! Lipstick! And Booze!
And he stuffed them in bags. Then the goth, very nimbly,
Stuffed all the bags, one by one, up the chimbley!
Then he slunk to the icebox. He took the Who's feast!
He took the Who-pudding! He took the roast beast!
He didn't eat any. He had to stay thin.
(Though he did take a swig of Momma-Who's gin.)
Then he stuffed all the food up the chimney with relish.
"And NOW!" grinned the goth, "For that tree that looks hellish!"
And the goth grabbed the tree, and he started to shove
When he heard a small sound like the coo of a dove.
He turned around fast, and he saw a small Who!
Little Siouxsie-Sioux-Who, who was not more than two.
The goth had been caught by this little chanteuse
Who'd got out of bed for a shot of Chartreuse.
She stared at the goth and said, "Santy Claus, why,
"Why are you taking our Christmas tree? WHY?"
But you know, that old goth was so smart and so slick
He thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick!
"Why my sweet little tot, it's really quite sad.
"This tree looks just ghastly, it's covered in plaid!
"So I'm taking it home," he told the pre-schooler.
"And when it's fixed up, it will look a lot cooler."
And his fib fooled the child. Then he patted her head
And he poured her a drink and he sent her to bed.
And when Siouxsie-Sioux-Who was in bed with her cup.
HE went to the chimney, and stuffed the tree up!
Then the last thing he took
Was the log for their fire!
Then he went up the chimney, himself, the old liar.
On their walls he left nothing but hooks and some wire.
And the one speck of food
That he left in the house
Was a crumb that was even too small for a mouse.
Then
He did the same thing
To the other Whos' houses
Leaving crumbs
Much too small
For the other Whos' mouses!
It was a quarter to dawn...
All the Whos, sleeping worse,
Each one passed out on booze
When he packed up his hearse,
Packed it up with their presents! The ribbons! The wrappings!
The tags! And the tinsel! The trimmings! The trappings!
Three thousand feet up! Up the side of Mt. Strumpet
He rode with his load to the tiptop to dump it!
"Pooh-Pooh to the Whos!" he was morbidly humming.
"They're finding out now that no Christmas is coming!
"They're just waking up! I know just what they'll do!
"Their mouths will hang open a minute or two
"Then the Whos down in Who-ville will all cry BOO-HOO!"
"But there's no time to listen," the goth said with a frown.
"The sun's starting to glisten. I've got to get down!
"I've got to get back to my lair with haste
"Or all that I've done tonight will go to waste!"
So the goth dumped the whole load
And returned to the road.
And started his flight
To avoid the daylight.
And asleep in his coffin, the goth smiled with glee.
For now there's no Christmas for you or for me.
(and you thought it'd have a happy ending, didn't you?)
Do you know who wrote this? Please let me know
The thirteen razorblades of christmas
On the 1st day of Christmas my ex-love gave to me,
A noose hanging from a pear tree.
On the 2nd day od Christmas my ex-love gave to me,
Two bottles of poison,
And a noose hanging from a pear tree.
On the 3rd day of Christmas my ex-love gave to me,
Three sharpened knives,
Two bottles of poison,
And a noose hanging from a pear tree.
On the 4th day of Christmas my ex-love gave to me
Four threatening notes,
Three sharpened knives,
Two bottles of poison,
And a noose hanging from a pear tree.
On the 5th day of Christmas my ex-love gave to me,
Five funeral deeds,
Four threatening notes,
Three sharpened knives,
Two bottles of poison,
And a noose hanging from a pear tree.
On the 6th day of Christmas my ex-love gave to me,
Six poisoned muffins,
Five funeral deeds,
Four threatening notes,
Three sharpened knives,
Two bottles of poison,
And a noose hanging from a pear tree.
On the 7th day of Christmas my ex-love gave to me,
Seven loaded pistols,
Six poisoned muffins,
Five funeral deeds,
Four threatening notes,
Three sharpened knives,
Two bottles of poison,
And a noose hanging from a pear tree.
On the 8th day of Christmas my ex-love gave to me,
Eight Chinese stars,
Seven loaded pistols,
Six poisoned muffins,
Five funeral deeds,
Four threatening notes,
Three sharpened knives,
Two bottles of poison,
And a noose hanging from a pear tree.
On the 9th day of Christmas my ex-love gave to me,
Nine broken hearts,
Eight Chinese stars,
Seven loaded pistols,
Six poisoned muffins,
Five funeral deeds,
Four threatening notes,
Three sharpened knives,
Two bottles of poison,
And a noose hanging from a pear tree.
On the 10th day of Christmas my ex-love gave to me,
Ten bloody corpses,
Nine broken hearts,
Eight Chinese stars,
Seven loaded pistols,
Six poisoned muffins,
Five funeral deeds,
Four threatening notes,
Three sharpened knives,
Two bottles of poison,
And a noose hanging from a pear tree.
On the 11th day of Christmas my ex-love gave to me,
Eleven locked coffins,
Ten bloody corpses,
Nine broken hearts,
Eight Chinese stars,
Seven loaded pistols,
Six poisoned muffins,
Five funeral deeds,
Four threatening notes,
Three sharpened knives,
Two bottles of poison,
And a noose hanging from a pear tree.
On the 12th day of Christmas my ex-love gave to me,
Twelve rusted needles,
Eleven locked coffins,
Ten bloody corpses,
Nine broken hearts,
Eight Chinese stars,
Seven loaded pistols,
Six poisoned muffins,
Five funeral deeds,
Four threatening notes,
Three sharpened knives,
Two bottles of poison,
And a noose hanging from a pear tree.
On the 13th day of Christmas my ex-love gave to me,
Thirteen razorblades,
Twelve rusted needles,
Eleven locked coffins,
Ten bloody corpses,
Nine broken hearts,
Eight Chinese stars,
Seven loaded pistols,
Six poisoned muffins,
Five funeral deeds,
Four threatening notes,
Three sharpened knives,
Two bottles of poison,
And a noose hanging from a pear tree!
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optimistic
