St. N

T'was the night before the Tree Farm Christmas Party and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even mouse.

The stockings were hung from the loft with great care, with hopes that the degens soon would be there.

The boys were all blacked-out in the sun room shooting pool, while visions of little boys were making him drool.

Porter in his sweatpants, a secret hole in the back, he stood there just hoping that Max would attack.

While out in the garage arose such a clatter, I nearly shit my pants, what the fuck is the matter?!

Down the hallway I ran so quick like the Flash, though I knew he was behind me, quietly starring at my ass.

I blow open the door to see what was the matter. The smoke hung like snow in the cool garage air, when what to my wondering eyes should appear, but Jake and Bastian ripping burnouts while chugging a beer.

From behind I feel a poke, but who could it be? I turn to see Nick, full tuck, yes balls and peepee.

He's dancing about for all to see, St. Nicholas is hammered - it's gay ladies night indeed!

More rapid than eagles, out the bottle it came. He poured out some shots and called us by name:

"On Bastian, on Bailey, on Brian, on Henner... on Jake, on Nick, on Kaleb, on Maxwell. To the top of the glass, a shot for us all. Now tip it back, tip it back, tip it back all."

To the kitchen he ran, a paper sack full of booze. It's tall boy roulette - pick fast, you snooze, you loose.

A four loco for Henner, a Natty Daddy for Max. This night is getting wild - a train off the tracks.

As the chanting grew louder, all the neighbors could hear.

"Porter likes boys", from the rooftops we cheer!