Poisoned Paradigm

Happy new year, all & sundry! Computer problems kept me from posting this a few days earlier, when it would have been a bit more topical. As it is, I still can't get the first image file down to a decent size (everything photo-related on my machine has apparently forgotten how to save files as JPEGS!)

TWAS THE DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS...

Twas the day after Christmas, and down in the wood
the female elves gathered; in a clearing they stood
awaiting the coming of good Santa Claus,
who'd promised that he'd lend an ear to their cause.

St. Nick swept in with his eight-reindeer team
and his fanciful sleigh like a glittering dream.
In the clearing they settled; a snow-cloud dispersed,
then Santa twitched, groaned, and farted and cursed.

"Why the fuck am I here?" the fat old man swore,
spraying spit from his lips on the cold forest floor.
"We have some demands," the head lady elf said,
and as she rang them off, Santa's cheeks turned bright red.

"We want higher wages, and sick days with pay,
and health coverage, and vacations away.
We want parity with the guys who make toys;
no more sleeping with those Mattel or Toys 'R Us boys!

"We know it's important to 'escort' those folks
but we've had it with all of their crude, drunken pokes!
Furthermore, we won't be cute little dolls
bringing you children to fondle and maul.

"You'll pay us triple, or we'll tell your wife
and then you can write off your whole debauched life!
So give us your answer, and, oh, by the way,
what's that funky new hardware attached to your sleigh?"

"Oh, this?" Santa grinned, shutting up the feed tray
"U.S. war surplus, procured yesterday."
Then from the M60 there burst such a clatter
that animals fled, fearing what was the matter.

The girls had no chance; they stood fixed in the snow,
shock on their faces, blood spurting below.
Snow kicked up around them; their lithe bodies twitched
as their boss' lead wrath 'cross their tummies was stitched.

For some, death was instant; they crumpled and dropped.
Some clutched at their wounds before their hearts stopped. .
Some, kept up by gunshots, danced wildly on feet
that were nothing but pillars supporting dead meat.



Santa Claus chortled, quite pleased with himself,
as the trigger he squeezed, shooting each helpless elf.
The recoil juddered the flab of his gut
as he blasted the tits of each blackmailing slut.

The muzzle-flash lit up the pines as he fired.
(He stopped briefly once, when his finger got tired.)
Ignoring their pitiful cries, he blazed on
'til every last cartridge of ammo was gone.

The reindeer were trained; they'd been through this before:
The shell casings rattling upon the sled's floor,
the roar of the gun, the last screams of the slain
elicited naught but an idle disdain.

They pawed at the snow in the silence that followed,
while echoes redounded, distorted and hollowed.
Santa decided to go for a walk,
for the sexy sprawled corpses had hardened his cock.

He trod scarlet snow at a slow, steady pace;
then whipped out his rod to shoot cum on the face
of the head lady elf, who retained her glazed stare
as he pawed her mulched breasts and her elf underwear.

Then he sprang to his sleigh; to his team, gave a whistle,
and away they all flew like the down of a thistle,
leaving the massacred bitches to cool
before being dribbled with hungry-wolf drool.