The tale of a Christmas slaughter.


On this night before Christmas,
There was a stirring in the house.
The pitter-patter of little feet could be heard,
But they sure as hell weren’t a mouse.

Heinous crimes had been committed,
The evidence was plain to see.
Follow the crumbs along the floor,
To find the carcasses under the tree.

While the culprits lay fast asleep,
Dreaming away in their beds,
A group of survivors gathered,
Forming a plan to keep their heads.

“The children are nothing but evil,”
A man shouted from the middle of the pack.
“They bite off our heads and discard us,
In an unprovoked attack.”

“Stand up for ourselves,” he bellowed,
His passion you can’t deny.
They all patted him on the back,
And cheered his rallying cry.

They stood at the foot of the stairs,
Packed and ready for war.
Some had knives and some had bats,
One even had a chainsaw.

The first step is always daunting,
In this case it was very true.
It was too tall for one to climb,
They had to rethink what to do.

They worked as a team and ascended,
For what became an easy climb.
They stood on each other’s shoulders,
And cleared one step at a time.

They rejoiced when they had finished,
Standing on the top stair.
Sadly their joy was short-lived,
And soon turned to despair.

In front of them lay Harold,
A big and thuggish brute.
But the owners loved their British Bulldog,
The kids thought he was cute.

He loved nothing more than gingerbread,
And in his sleep he caught their scent.
His eye opened slowly,
Catching their quick descent.

They ran and ran as fast as they could,
But they couldn’t escape Harold’s paw.
They broke up into little pieces,
Leaving piles of debris on the floor.

Harold didn’t mind the mess they made,
As his tongue hoovered up each part.
He sat on the bottom step pleased with himself,
And let out a little fart.

I wondered about the moral of this story,
And I think upon reflection,
If you are going to make gingerbread men this Christmas,
Make sure you have a dog for your protection.

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