Twas the Night Before HM's Christmas

Because today is also kind of busy, I will read to you my Night
Before Christmas poem, according to my keyword searchers:

Twas the night before Hillbilly Mom's Christmas, and all through
the mansion for old people

Not a creature was stirring, not even a deer getting hit by a semi.

The stockings were hung by the Gotti Mansion pictures
with care

In hopes that St. Nicholas had 40 questions about me.

The children were nestled all snug in their Whitney Houston
observatory,

While visions of how to prepare and cook snapping turtles
danced in their heads;

And mama in her hillbilly wig, and I in my g string,

Had just settled down for making meth in your bathroom,

When out on the lawn there arose breakfast Whoppers
made in the oven,

I sprang from the bed to see little critters gummies and
commercial.

Away to the window I flew like rotton teeth,

Tore open the shutters and threw up smelling mom's panties.

The moon on the breast of the Hillbilly Mom outfits

Gave the luster of mid-day to Hannah Montana's boobs.

When, what to my wondering HM pride should appear

But a miniature hillbilly meth lab and eight tiny underboob moms.

With a little old stalking hillbilly, so lively and oh so pretty

I knew in a moment it must be HM.

More rapid than child beating her Mabel typing lessons,
they came,

And she wants to be diapered and spanked over her desk,
and called them by name,

Now Hillbilly Caviar! Now Boys Blog! Now Fiddle dee dee!

On Megaboobs! On Blogspot! On Ice, Charcoal, Gun Bluing!

To the top of the Newton telescope tubs shop! To the top of
Aldi 7' air hockey table!

Now remove a fentanyl patch! Remove a fentanyl patch!
Remove a fentanyl patch all!

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the old people mansion

The prancing and pawing of Julie Andrews boobs in 10.

As I drew in my Nez booty and was asking Jeeves about guitar
open g tuning,

Down the chimney HM came with a redneck box of Bud Light.

She was dressed all in banana holders, from her head to her foot

And her clothes were all tarnished with aldi chicken wing blood.

A bundle of Hidden Valley bottled ranch dressing in the 80s
she had flung on her back,

And she looked like a food addict anonymous vegetarian
just opening her pack.

Her hillbilly boobs, how they twinkled! Her oblivion no
panties, how merry!

Her cheeks were like crappy bass perch, her nose like a cherry,

Her droll little mouth was drawn up like a garden hose hillbilly,

And the beard on her chin was as white as leftover Chinese.

The stump of a hillbilly in a recliner she held tight in her teeth,

And the coal homemade coke it encircled her head like a wreath.

She had a broad face and a tied to the bone belly,

That shook when she laughed like cefprozil left out of
refrigerator.

She was chubby and plump, a right jolly old cat getting
head cut off,

And I laughed when I saw her in spite of ugly hillbilly pictures
at the Thanksgiving table

A wink of her eye and a twist of her HH boobs,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dress up a mansion.

She spoke not a word but went straight to Hillbilly Hills
Karaoke Bar Branson, Mo.

And filled all the pitchers of kids in wheelchairs that has a
crotch strap, then turned with a jerk,

And laying her Mary Poppins elementary study guide aside
of her nose,

And giving a nod, up the salary mansion she rose.

She sprang to her sleigh, to her team gave a gum wrapper
and forehead prank,

And away they all flew like the Lost World Veronica to pee.

But I heard her song first line - I could build a mansion ere
she drove out of sight:

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a double dipp Costanza!