‘Twas the night before their lesbian Christmas, when all through the house
Not a body part was stirring, not even under her blouse.
The Birkenstocks were hung by the lawnmower with care,
And they hoped that St. Nicholas was actually a sexy woman named Claire.
The lesbians were nestled all snug in their bed,
While visions of granola and Subarus danced in her head.
And Emily in her nightie and I in my corduroy pajama pants from the Gap,
Had just tucked in our papayas for an unusual Florida cold snap.
When out on the lawn there arose such loud obnoxious chatter,
I sprang from my bed and swear I heard my fat cat scatter.
Away to the window I ran in a flash,
Opened the curtain and landed against the wall with a loud crash.
Surprisingly I did not awaken my sleeping lesbian ho,
For she would have been as surprised as I when I saw what was below.
When, what to my curious eyes should appear,
But a brand new Jeep Wrangler and a pack of lesbians with eight cases of beer.
With a hefty and loud driver, a hick with a kick,
I knew in a moment this lesbian was that kind of chick.
Faster than she could say the L-word, her Reindykes they came,
And she whistled and waved and called them by name.
“Now Cynthia! Now, Amy Ray! Now, Ellen and Portia,
On KD Lang! On Melissa! On Tegan and Sara!
To the garage! To the shed! To the porch!
Time to install the decks and the Tiki torch!
As fast as these women can throw and dodge a ball,
They erected a backyard lesbian oasis without a brawl.
To the house and garage these women flew,
With a Jeep full of sex toys, softballs, and fanny packs too!
And then in the moment, I heard from one of the back decks,
The stomping of boots like a pack of gay rednecks.
As I closed the curtain and heard a loud click,
In through the door was Rosie O’Donnell, dressed like St. Nicholas as a chick.
She was all dressed in LL Bean flannel from head to toe,
And her chin was stained with a white powder that looked like blow.
A bundle of feminist literature and sports gear she had in her sack,
And as she bent over, I got a good look at her crack.
Her hands—how they were calloused! Her arms so thick!
Her cheeks were as red as apples and her hair was so slick!
Her big mouth was wide open like a cave,
And the beard on her chin needed a good shave.
The end of a joint she held tightly ‘tween her lips,
And the smoke billowed around her body, even around her hips.
She had a broad face and a big beer gut,
That wobbled when she coughed and even shook her butt.
She was chubby and plump, a typical older lesbian,
And I laughed when I saw her until she gave me the look of a demon.
A sly smirk and a wave of her arm,
Soon gave me to know she meant me no harm.
She spoke not a word, but went straight to work,
Filled all our Birkenstocks, but ignored our Doc Martens (what a jerk).
With her sack empty she walked towards the door,
She gave me a quick nod and ambled out like a wild boar.
She lumbered towards her Jeep, and to the Reindykes she gave a yell,
And away they drove into traffic of South Florida, also known as hell.
But I heard them exclaim, as they drove out of sight,
“Merry Christmas to you lesbians, and to you a gay night!”
