Twas the night before the rhyme

Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the house
Not a creature was stirring
Except a guy acting scouse
He was playing Ringo, the lovable brit
And generally acting as if being high of his tits
He wasn't really, he was just bored
"Locked in my house", he angrily snored
The blond neighbour babe said "Your own damn fault"
"And don't call be babe, or your eyes will get salt".
The tall guy in the corner said "I am not gonna rhyme"
While the readhead brought the shorter guy a lager and lime.
"But you hate lager and lime" said the redheaded spoilsport
"And I bet that you can't rhyme that" she said with a...



"Dang, you were right", he said, and found a thesaurus.
For he had lent his rhyming-dictionary to his neighbour Morris.
"Another word for spoilsport", he said out loud.
"There is no such thing", said the tall, non-rhyming, jerk.
"You can make me rhyme!", said the redheaded girl.
"You can make me rhyme, for exampel, words like Luggage and Twirl".
"Why are we doing this?", said the girl from next door
While the short guy was looking for a word that wasn't "floor".
"I throught you had written down the true story about us saving Chris Mess"
"Yes, I did, but I found it listless".
"Maybe next year we can do that, but for now
Chris Mess is safe from Denbys cow*".
"Wait", said the redhead "Chris Mess from down the road?"
"For a second I throught it was the holiday (Perhaps this is a forebode!)
So, see you all next year, my no doubt millions of fans and friends.
End of year one, but we will be back again!


*Long story, and to short a rhyme.
And I am rapidly running out of lager and lime.