Sunday, December 17, 2006

A Holiday Poem

Twas the night before Christmas and across the Clay Nation
the last CD was wrapped, all had made their donation
to Unicef, BAF, and Best Buddies too,
credit cards maxed, they did all they could do.

Mamarose in her clay thong and olemass in his sox
were snuggled in bed next to a Sony boom box.
No need for Nytol or the counting of sheep
as the drone of Clay's covers lulled them to sleep.

But on his computer, Clay was not napping,
his long slender fingers were too busy tapping
A cute well-hung dude he was eager to view
by webcam, then hopefully in person too.

Never mind that his mats waited out by his bus
What mattered most to Clay was his own intense lust
His cell phone was hung by his side with great care
Hoping it would ring and that stud would be there.

He heard from a distance the cackle of hens
the squeals of old fans all wearing depends
He looked out the window and rolled his green eyes
laughing at them as he dreamed of naked buff guys.

His stocking was hung by the chimney with care
in hopes that St. Dickolas soon would be there.
6 inches, 12 inches, it didn't matter
but because it was Xmas he wished for the latter.

It wasn't just Clay that was busy that night
Jaymes, Clive, and Faye were chatting with fright
"However can we keep our cash cow going next year?"
Clive trolled for the next one--Faye sniffed back a tear

Back at the bus, Jerome stood watch by the door
Hold back the mats 'til on the computer Clay could score
Then Clay would appear to play his word game
So that he could hang on to his pretense of fame

He looked at the mats with disgust and distain
Why oh why can't they all look like a buffed
Guy named Dane

Walk right in a stud named J Paulus
Striped & bared, came out a huge phallus
Oh my!!! Clay thought what a blow job he had
One year later, blow he did but a job he ain't got

Then outside the bus there arose such a clatter
Jerome flew from the door to see what was the matter.
Over to the fences he flew like a flash
As Clay, on the bus, shed his purple wool sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the light of REALITY to the Claymats below.
For what should appear? Not a sleigh full of toys
But a sparkling parade float with eight hawt rentboys!
With a bling-laden driver, quite old but no wimp
I knew in a moment he must their pimp.

The rentboys all flexed and showed off their girth
Wiggling their asses for all they were worth
Clay looked them all over, eyes twinkling with glee
He chose three of the biggest, and slipped them a key

On Carl! On Roger! On Jose! he did yell
My Claymat bitches, they can go to hell
I've got time to spend with my rentboys tonight!
I do declare I feel light as a kite!

I may throw away my paxil, I feel so calm
Not a care in the world, I don't give a darn
Now if only John P on my doorstep would appear
He's the best quarter turns I've had in a year

The three boys were nestled all snug in Clay's bed
while visions of quarter turns danced in their heads.
Mama Faye was asleep at the end of the hall
but awoke when she thought that she heard Clayton call...

You're Dasher, You're Dancer and I'll call you Vixen.
I hope you all know that I really love fistin'.
Mama rose from her bed and threw open his door
and knew in an instant that she raised a whore.

"Clayton Holmes Grissom, what have we here
I thought you told me you weren't a queer?"
"I'm sorry mama" Clayton replied
"I guess I told you a big fat lie"

Mama Faye stomped out of the room and back down the hall
Clayton turned to his boys and said "now lets have fun y'all"
"We can play Golden Girls, You three and me
You can be Rose, You can be Blanche, and I'll be Dorothy!"

You can be Sophia, we all can play
We can do this all night and then all day
Mama Faye can watch to - that is if she'd like
I'll tell her I'm not queer, I'm really a dyke!

Clay spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
filling the (censored) and then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger nowhere close to his nose
and giving a nod, watched Waldo as he rose.

Back at the boards the mats they did chatter
about their fine Clesus and how much they matter
While Clay plays with rentboys all night and all day
The mats discuss his virtues every which way

He's a god, he's a saint, and he’s a fine Southern boy
They declare with strong fervor he's their reason for joy
He's all things good and fantastic too
Never mind he is fisting some guy named Sulu.

He loves his Mama they scream one and all
He's moral and pure and SO on the ball
He continues to laugh all the way to the bank
He seriously thinks that his own sh*t don't stank.

Now he turned to survey the work he had done
He nodded and grinned and said, 'this was great fun!'
He daintily rose as he heard the mats call
And said 'Swishaway, swishaway, swishaway all!"

He sent Jerome out to say, "Sorry, Clay's sick!"
The mats never dreamed he was copping some dick.
Then he called for round two as he pulled off his PJs
And yelled at the rentboys, “Less chatter! More BJs!”

And when he was finished he rose with a wink
And washed his hands three dozen times at the sink.
Then I heard him exclaim as he started to dress,
”Go get a fucking towel and clean up this MESS!”

Once JP stepped forward to hand Clay the towel
No one expected so much jizz that he needed a trowel
Get me something bigger Clay yelled with a sneer
All the boys but JP ran off out of fear!

Clay sauntered off going back to his life
Lying to his mats about finding the right wife
All the while in the back of JP’s pickup truck
Lay the evidence of it all that would turn Clayton’s luck

Now here we are almost one year later
All us former fans are turned into "haters"
He never seems to surprise the extents he does sell
His soul as he continues his descent in to hell.


Brought to you by the brilliant minds at Tin Foil Hat's House!!