Merry Shitmas to all, and to all a good Sprite! 'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the buffet,  Not a creature was un-barbequed for they were all prey;  The hams were all hung in the pantry with care,  In hopes that St. Beetus soon would be there;  The children were face-deep in pastries and breads;  While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;  And papa on his scootypuff, and I on my sofa,  Had just settled our bellies for another meatloaf,  When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,  I glanced from my plate to see what was the matter.  Away to the window I dragged my fat lard,  Through the living room to the window; and entire two yards!  The moon like a pizza, the powdered-sugar snow,  Gave a lustre of flavour to objects below,  When what to my retinopathic eyes did appear,  But a miniature sleigh and eight tasty rein-deer,  With a few extra snacks for our leader to treat us,  I knew in a moment ze must be St. Beetus.  With sweat on my brow I dropped into my seat, And replenished my shugas with something quite sweet. I had, Twinkies! and, Cupcakes! had, Gravy on Fries!  With, Nuggets! and, Butter! and, Ice Cream on Pies!  With starvation mode evaded I looked to the hearth, To see dear St. Beetus with zis hand on zis heart.  For the efforts of riding so far in a sleigh, With no handicap parking, ze had to walk a long way. An effort too great for my holiday hero, and zis glucose level read a healthy “four-zero-zero.” And then came an earthquake as St. Beets fell, Overtaken by my curves and perhaps zis own smell. With dear St. Beetus gone it was all up to me, To place store-bought casseroles under each Christmas tree. So I finished my meal just eight servings later, And made one last blog post to fend off my haters. I turned to papa, “Give me the scootypuff, now.” “MUH CONDISHUNS!” he hollered with sweat on his brow. With a mission in mind I pushed him to the floor, His last lucky toe dangling just a little bit more. I took to the scootypuff to traverse the wide room, Which, due to our laziness would be St. Beetus’ tomb. I reached the great sleigh piled high with its rations And stripped down St. Beetus to adorn zis fierce fashions. With my beautiful curves that only real womyns know, The outfit stretched tight, like a sock filled with dough. All suited up I sat in the sleigh, Eating only enough of the snacks to make way. But the sleigh did not budge, only whirred sadly, and shook, The food weighed down the sleigh; so a bit more I took. But the sleigh did not fly and I saw a light flash, “OVERSIZED CARGO” read out from the dash. With the food all but gone I knew it meant me, So with rage in my heart I began to REEEE! I stomped my great trunks until the sleigh shook to pieces, Then settled my PTSD with a package of Reese’s.  Still oppressed by the sled that I could not board, I kicked St. Beetus’ corpse and yelled, “Fucking Shitlord!!!” The end! I made this crappy little poem with all the plaque love in my heart for you, my beloved shitizens. Merry Shitmas, everyone.