T’was the night before Christmas, and all through LA
Every creature was blurring the words that they say;
The stockings were pleather and the cleavage was bare,
In hopes that Robert Pattinson might just be there.
The girls were all decked out and far from their beds,
Ativan-induced visions bounce ‘round in their heads
Of a chain-smoking Britney, with a babe on her lap,
And Leo settling down for a much-needed nightcap.
Angie’s too thin now and Jessica’s fatter,
Winona’s stealing wine glasses, but what does it matter?
The bouncer nodded as my breasts they did flash,
He tore open the door and so in did I dash.
There were levels and light bulbs and lush lines of snow,
Martinis, Whiskinis, and Bellinis-to-go,
When, what to my glazy red eyes should appear?
But a miniature starlet with strong black men all near.
Without even looking she floats by like a feather,
What the ef? you say; this is the worst Christmas ever!
Smoke firmly in hand, she coughs and she wheezes,
Clears her throat as she sniffles and sneezes:
“From Bardot to Cha Cha and Sky Bar to Villa,
Club-hoppin’ on God’s day is so damn vanilla!
To the VP section asap! Watch Shannen brawl!
Now get away! Get away! Get away, y’all!”
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The stomping of Olsen twin Louboutin-clad hoofs.
I reached for my camera and was turning around,
When right down the staircase Ashley fell with a bound.
She was dressed all in fur, from her toes to her crown,
Which nestled her fall on a mad Bobby Brown.
Though he’s not a peddler, as that would be wack,
His pockets spilled onto the dance floor out back.
A bundle rolled under Kim Kardashian’s pump,
Who teetered and tottered right onto her rump.
Her thighs – how they twiddled! Her dimples – how plenty!
And all in a girl not a day over “twenty.”
Her cheeks like Beyonce’s; her new nose like Lindsay’s,
Who struts smugly by with Samantha at ease.
The stump of a smoke held tight in her teeth,
Not a smudge in her makeup nor panties beneath.
So I feign for a fall and lean in for the peek,
(For viewings like this are but once a week.)
It seemed like a plan, what with the commotion,
An excellent chance to show my devotion.
To celebs and Jesus and this season of glum,
Then I laughed when I saw Security come.
With a roll of his eyes and a tilt of his head,
An unimpressed look showed much was to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went right to his work,
Grabbed me by my Sevens and threw me out with a jerk.
Dude’s pretty hot though, so there’s still reason to cheer,
A week to get sober, and then there’s always New Years.
And I heard him exclaim as we drove out of sight,
“Merry Christmas!” he winked, “To a very good night!”