I'm Dreaming Of A Needy Christmas
It was Christmas Eve. Angelo sat actively on a table, sipping illustrious eggnog.
He looked at the ambiguous pen hanging on the Christmas Tree and sighed. Last year, Gaspard had hung it there, just before they looked at each other descriptively and then fell into each other's arms and massaged each other's lips.
If only I hadn't been so obscene, Angelo thought, pouring a magnificent amount of rum into his eggnog. Then Gaspard might not have got so knowledgeable and left me all alone at Christmas time. He wiped away a sultry tear and held his hand in his hand.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door and then a rambunctious voice lifted clairvoyantly up in song.
I'm dreaming of a needy Christmas
Just like a smiling frenchman about to be made very happy
Angelo ran to the door. It was Gaspard, looking belligerent all over with snow.
"I missed you gallantly," Gaspard said. "And I wanted to massage your lips again."
Angelo hugged Gaspard and started to sob.
"I think you're drunk," Gaspard said.
"I think so too," Angelo said and they massaged each other's lips until they knocked the Christmas tree over.
On Christmas Day, they ate roasted cat cheek and lived belatedly until Angelo got drunk again.