T’was the night before wokesmas,And all through the house.No systematic oppression,Not even of a mouse.Santa made his way down the chimney,With toys, and gifts, and a bike for Timmy.He laid his presents at the tree down,before he suddenly heard a small sound.“Mean white man” said the kid behind,Who had woken up and came down to find,A jolly fat man in white and red,With a look of confusion and curious dread.“White?” he asked, not being a showman,“My name is German but I’m really Roman.”He ignored the comment, the offhand on race,“Because,” he thought, “it was all in bad taste.”The kid may have thought he was in the right place,But the kid didn’t realise: Santa was based.Based was Santa, based was he,Based were the presents under the tree.There was a bike for Timmy, a craftset for John.A vibrator for Tammy, who used to be Ron.He had checked the list twice, he wasn’t quite sure,Why a noose for Tammy was part of décor.“Am I sure she’s on the nice list?” He said,He was sure he’d seen her deviantart page.He brushed it off, this was a weird family,Like John who was an ancom (and didn’t believe in traditional hierarchies of power. Sorry, I couldn’t make this rhyme).Now about the kid, he had to do something,The kid couldn’t remember about that evening.With a boot up the bum, the kid went to sleep,It was a magical boot, as soft as a teet.“This house is quite weird, it’s just not for me,”He said, kicking the gender neutral tree. “Another naughty list, another coal,For next year, may god help us all.”He’d have to talk to the elves in the north,Because, ultimately, something was off.A lot more requests, more weird tastes,And a lot more naughty wastes.“Oh well, I better head off,To give presents to the based, the chuds, the tough.”And so Santa rode into the light,To wish a merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
N
I respect your efforts
