An Unseasonal Christmas Poem

About now is the time shops gear up to begin their big Christmas push, or at least it seems that way; so I thought I'd commemorate the occasion with a little poem. Or, you can see this as an interesting comment on the datelessness of the Internet (it's a word!) and how I can publish in July but you can still read it in December. Whatever tickles your pickle.

Santa is a paedophile.

There’s no doubt in my mind

When children sit down on his knee

He’s feeling their behind.

His elves are dressed in skin-tight pants,

They’re only three feet tall,

And Santa, every single night

Takes one into his hall.

He watches children every day

To see if they behave;

He gives the nice ones lots of sweets

But it’s the naughty ones he craves.

He’s not particularly fussed

If it’s a girl or boy;

He’ll try to take them to his house

By giving them a toy.

So take heed, kids, on Christmas Eve

To watch out for this creep,

‘Cos otherwise he’ll fly right in

And watch you while you sleep.