Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,
You couldn't hear anything over the fats stuffing their mouths.
The decorations were sparse and the poor tree was bare,
Because everyone knows that fats just don't care.
The kids were pretending to sleep in their beds,
With thoughts of beetus treats filling their heads.
Then from the roof there came quite a roar.
"All of you maggots, get on the floor!"
"I want three sets of twenty and two sets of ten."
"Then I want to see you fat fuckers do it all again!"
He slid down the chimney as he was quite fit.
The still gaping porkers finally saw Good Old Saint Shit.
The beard and the hair and the suit was the same,
But Santa was actually as ripped as they came.
He filled the stained stockings with fresh veggies and lean meats.
With a wave of his hand he disappeared the sugary treats.
He stacked bicycles and weights under the tree.
With a maniacal grin, he punched out the T.V.
As the fat fucks just sat there gasping for breath,
Santa looked disgusted and said as he left:
"And if you continue to offend my asthetics,
All you get next year is a bunch of prosthetics!"