ATI! Because it kind of rocks.


YET ANOTHER Pigdog Journal Second Annual Christmas Essay Contest HONORABLE MENTION
2000-01-06 19:12:41

Sappy Christmas Shit
The problem with some people is that when they aren't drunk they're sober.
-- William Butler Yeats


Man, I bet you, the general public, have pretty much had enough of the sporadic serial publication of Pigdog Journal Second Annual Christmas Essay Contest winners and honorable mentions and stuff! But don't forget, CHRISTMAS AIN'T OVER YET. So KEEP READING, DAMMIT!

Damnation! This has got to be the most pathological and disturbing entry we received this year for the Pigdog Journal Second Annual Christmas Essay Contest. I have to say it gives me the HEEBY-JEEBIES, for several reasons.

First off, it features myself as a crack-smoking Santa wannabe. Gar! That's weird. Kids, don't smoke crack. Crack is bad. Mr. Bad does not endorse this product or service.

Second off, it has me whipping all the other PDJ staff on the ass. This is also just really bad. I am not the boss of Pigdog and I never hit the PDJ staff or tie them to sleighs or anything. They would get REAL MAD if I did that.

Third off, we have a pretty damn good "'Twas the Night Before Christmas" knockoff already. Although this one scans a lot better.

But anyways, it's quite honorable a poem, and it includes a lot of violence and drug abuse, so, HELL, we'll publish it. But don't get any bad ideas about us.

~Mr. Bad

The Pigdog Night Before Christmas
By El Crackhead Grande

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the labs
Not a creature was stirring, they were all stuck to the slabs
Sensors and weathervanes were hung by the windows with care
In the hope that nuclear winter would bring us some air

The frozen pinheads were all snug in their carts
At least those not chopped up to be used up as parts
And the mutant in his hole, and I in my shack
Had just settled down to enjoy some good crack

When out on the lawn came such a great crash
I eventually looked out when the rock was all cash
Away to the viewport I sprang with a cry
Out with my nine and "Who wants to die?"

The moon, all hidden, would not give me a show
But the fallout provided me a nice warm glow
And to my amazement, out of the smoking fogs
Came a small sleigh and eight tiny pigdogs

With a hunched driver, so drug-crazed and mad
I knew right away that it must be Mr. Bad
Belching foul smoke and weaving through the night
I heard him cry out as he came into sight:

To the top of the lab! go over the wall!
Now flame away! flame away! flame away all!"

As a big liquid shit that splatters the ass
When you've had a burrito and smoked too much grass
So to my lab the pigdogs they flew
The sleigh full of drugs, and Mr. Bad too

And then with a crash of gunpowder and stone
The pigdogs came through the wall into my home
As I was starting to pull the trigger with dread
Mr. Bad leapt up and clocked me upside the head

He was dressed like a leper, from his head to his foot
And his eyes danced with all the acid he'd took
And more of his drugs were strapped on his back
He looked quite the junkie stroking his sack

His eyes -- how they dilated! his face all red!
He had a huge shit-eating grin encircling his head!
He grinned while looking around at the shills
Frozen in time, to awake to large bills

His crack pipe was clenched tightly in his jaw
The smoke streamed out, covering all that i saw
The pigdogs all snorted and shat on the floor
Mr. Bad laughed and started smoking some more

He was twisted and bad, a vile, grumpy old ork
I tried to fool him and stab him with a fork
A kick to the groin and a boot to the head
I was bleeding pretty bad and he left me for dead

He spoke not a word, but took out a large gat
And gunned down the corpses, right where they sat
Making quite sure, with measure and care
That all their brains were reduced to just air

He jumped to his sleigh, calling his pigdogs to fly
And away they all flew through the bilious sky
But I heard him exclaim before blood clouded my sight:

Over.  End of Story.  Go home now.

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