Tag Archive: Christmas

Day 25- Santa Claws

Dionysus decided to take you guys on today!



Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!
What will you like Santa to add to your wishlist?
I come bearing gifts for both the young and the old.
All I ask in return is your pound of flesh by the mould.

Santa Claws, sharper than Krueger Freddy,
I take what I want whenever I’m ready.
Kids scream in pure ecstacy,
As my fingers pierce through their soft belly.

Ladies shed tears of joy as my claws massage their fanny.
Blood dripping, I seem to be making them horny.
I want a car for christmas, he stood there wishing.
My claws were the key and his flesh was the ignition.

Ho Ho Ho!, I am Santa Claws!
I live and abide by only one law.
If you have a wish, Santa Claws would deliver.
But just remember to drop your liver,
Kidneys, toes, eyes will do.
Heart, intestines, kneecaps too

What you ask, you shall receive,
Along with your inevitable bereave.
Ho Ho Ho, I am Santa Claws!
I ride no elves, but you see me crusing a Porsche.
My stomach is bloated from drinking too much liquor.
I dyed my beard white cause young girls like em older.

Underneath my red suit are a pair of guns.
To get a titty flash from one of them uptight nuns.
I am Santa Claws and I aint no folklore.
‘Ho Ho Ho’ and my big belly are what I use to lure.

Girls, boys, men, women are fascinated.
Camouflaged as I rip their flesh and the blood painted.
Walls, floors, tables and ceilings,
I give birth to the new untainted phoenix.
Death gives life and the unborn is born.
I give something new as their flesh is ripped and torn.

I am Santa Claws and December 25th is when I make my Hitlist.
Give me a call and I’d give you a visit
Ho Ho Ho!
Merry Christmas!


Frankly, Dionysus is crazy! LOL.
Do enjoy your festivities. Drink responsibly and be safe.

Day 24 – The Bold Chicken

Hello! It’s a beautiful Monday morning! Kidding. -_-.
It’s a gloomy Monday and what better to boost moods than a story? Yes, I have a story!
Silly-ish! Enoy!



Obinna woke up and for a second he had no idea what day it was.
Then he remembered…and grinned. One looking at him would have described his smile as almost feral, yellow teeth glistening dully between dry, cracked lips.
“Today na today!” he murmured as he got out of bed – an old mattress, soft with age.
He yawned, stretching his arms as far as they could go up his head- which wasn’t far, considering his short stature.
‘Small stout’ his friends would call him in jest.

He walked over to the black polythene bad near his bed and after a search, punctuated by his yawning, brought out a white singlet which he donned quickly and left the room. He walked into a sparsely furnished and dark living room and peered closely at an unremarkable clock on the wall. Muttering and pointing, his face was scrunched up in concentration.
“Aha!” he whispered at last, smiling in satisfaction, as if he had just deciphered a particularly difficult code.
“It is thirty past six” he murmured, thirty pronounced ‘taati’.
With another smile, he left and walked into what seemed to be a kitchen. He scurried around in the darkness and came out triumphant with a knife and a bowl.
“Jezas good morning Sir” he sang softly under his breath as he used a key he must have retrieved from the living room to open the door. He walked back in to drop out and came out a few second later, picked the bowl with the knife and walked outside into the morning.
He took a deep breath and smiled, remembering his village. It almost smelled the same, thanks to the grassy pasture his Master and his wife had grown around the compound.
With a spring in his step, he walked to the back of the house, whistling a Christmas tune under his breath.
He got out a stool from a corner and placed it beside the gutter.
He brought the knife and with flourish, swiped it on the cemented ground.
He grinned, part excited about the crisp sound the metal made as it came in contact with the ground.
“Anyi ga eri sha sha! All correct Sah!” he said excitedly, shaking his shoulders in glee. “We will eat prenty!”
He swiped the knife a few more times, and testing its blade with his fingers, he decided it was sharp enough.
He got off the stool, knife on hand and walked till he got to a metal cage where cluckings were heard.
A hen poked its head out of the bars of its cage and Obinna gestured to it.
“Today na today!” he jumped up and broke into a dance, wriggling his waist as he made stabbing gestures to the floor.
“You willi dah-co-rate our prate today” he chortled.
The hen stared at him calmly, head twitching every few seconds.
“Anyi ga eri gwo gwo! All correct Sah!” he mock saluted at his poultry audience and burst into gales of laughter.
“When I serve Oga and Madam food today, I will sarut like dis and say All correct Sah!” he told the hen.
He cradled the knife under his armpit and opened the cage.
As he reached inside to grab the hen, it flew into his face, causing him to shriek in surprise, dropping back and allowing the hen escape.
“Chimo!” he shouted, and gave pursuit, knife in hand, swearing oaths on how he was going to kill it mercilessly.
The hen eluded him, managing to slip from his fingers every time he tried to grab a hold of its feathers.
“I che n’inwa anya! You think you’re bold ookwa ya!” he muttered furiously, trying to herd the taciturn hen to the back of the house.
It made for the front gate and his eyes widened in realisation and horror.
There was a gape just at the base of the gate where the hen could slip through. He had been told to fix it since by his Master but had postponed it due to laziness.
True to word, the hen shimmied through the opening, and Obinna caught it- ALMOST!
The hen disappeared and he heard its triumphant clucking as it ran its merry way off.
Tears came unbidden to his eyes add he imagined the reaction of his Master when he’d wake up later to find out that the Christmas chicken he had bought -quite expensively, as he boasted to his wife- had just run away.
Even more sorrowful, the fact that for the first time in many years, he won’t be eating chicken on Christmas day.


Eshinshin carry pomo!
Lol dunno why I felt the need to type that!
How is everyone enjoying their holiday? Good?
Well I’ve got no holiday. Got work today. Yes, My boss is a Grinch but hey! Free lunch!
You have a lovely day and be safe!!!

Last Christmas

Hello! This post isn’t a new one, No Sir! This was a story I wrote as an entry for an online writing competition still going on at http://www.thenakedconvos.com titled The Writer. If you’re on twitter, you can follow the hash tag #TheWriter for all the updates and interviews. Well, my story didn’t make the cut. Guess it wasn’t my best. Different from my usual perhaps! LOL at the title btw. It was originally titled This Christmas but as Keresimesi don pass na… *Weirdo shrug*

Enough of the endless prattling. Enjoy!



I’m suddenly thinking about bees; those fat yellow-black monsters I used to chase at my gran’s garden when I was still young, during the summer-y months of July and August. I wonder why I’m thinking about them. Maybe it’s because of how similar they sound to the clipper that shaved off my red locks of hair some weeks ago at this very place. Yes, it all started with thinking about hair. Hair to bees. It’s funny how my mind roams randomly. This salon is almost like a hive, with the eternal bzzzt of a dozen clippers, the soft, metallic chop chop of two dozens scissors and the innumerable murmurs of ‘Thanks’ and ‘Come back again’.
I close my eyes and I can almost feel the summer’s sun on my skin; almost smell the compost in the garden. My nose wrinkle instinctively at the memory. I never really liked that smell, especially when it was watered down with either the odd rain or gran’s watering hose.
My eyes snap open. I remember where I am, far away from the farm in both distance and years. The woman smiles at me. I wonder how long she has been here standing, watching me in my closed-eye musing. I smile sheepishly in apology and thanks, following her. Humming a carol tune along with the jukebox, we make our way to her office.
“Have a holly jolly Christmas…”
On our way, we pass several posters of multi-racial women with beautiful hair, smiling brilliantly at whatever camera lenses were capturing their images at that moment. I throw one raven-haired a cheeky grin and cackle in my head.

The Christmas song doesn’t leave my head even as I walk outside into the stinging cold, package I went to collect, in hand. I readjust my bright red scarf (Christmas spirit!) across my neck, singing softly as I walk down the street to the hospital.
“I don’t know if there’ll be snow…”
Well there isn’t! Back in Cumbria, houses would have been snowed in by now. Not here of course. All we have for now in London is the rain.
The blue and white NHS signpost welcomes me back and with surety, my feet walk unaided to the ICU. I go past a brightly adorned faux Christmas tree and several strips of green and red decorations; tell-tale signs of someone trying into infuse some cheer in the wards. Sadly, only the members of staff would get to enjoy its beauty; patients strapped to life-giving machines can’t, can they?
“Oh my have a holly jolly Christmas this year!” I whisper as I walk into her room, smiling.
I gently drop my bag, bringing out the early Christmas present. They had done a good job! I walk up to her bedside, bed springs squeaking as I lower my frame to sit.
She’s asleep, chest rising and falling in tandem to the beeping of the huge machine beside her bed.
My lovely angel.
A smile tugs at the side of my lips as I listen to her whistling breath. One genetic trait her father managed to smear on her ‘mini-mummy’ characteristics. My smile turns sad as I remember George.

He left.
He left me four years ago with a one-month old baby to care for all by myself. We were not married after all; no vows holding him down.
The weasel.
She was my bundle of joy, the bundle of joy I refused to abort for his selfish reasons.
I’m her mummy and her daddy; always have been, always will be.
I rub her bald head gently, feeling the tiny pricks of new hair growing. She used to have beautiful, shiny auburn hair, like her mama. Her illness changed that. It started with dizzy spells; then graduated to frightening seizures. Routine brain scans equalled a skinhead four-year old girl.
The brain scans would continue until the doctors are sure about what exactly is wrong with her. They’re confused.
Been a month already. I would not think about it; not now. Maybe in January, after Christmas.
Gently, I wear her the gift.
My gift of Love.
I can’t help smiling.
“Merry Christmas hun” I whisper, kissing her forehead. My tummy growls its protest at being left unattended to.
“Oh hush” I mutter as I get up, picking up my umbrella and wallet.

Windy rain.
I struggle to hold on to my umbrella but a sharp gust of wind snatches my partner away from me, twirling it in a dainty pirouette. My arms flail in protest.
A young man manages to grab on to it before it flies afar.
“Thanks!” I exclaim in gratitude.
His eyes travel across my face to my head and I watch his eyes widen in surprise. I had forgotten my hat. I see his face soften in pity and I can instantly tell what he’s thinking.
Bald head.
“Merry Christmas” he whispers and walks away.
I want to call out to him and correct him but I doubt he’d understand.
What better gift can a mother give her child?

“Mummy do you think there’s a chimney in the hospital?”
I looked up from my reading “Why baby?”
She coughed a little and I went to her side.
“Well dunno if Santa comes to hospitals.”
“Of course he does baby.”
She smiled.
“Mummy, do you think Santa can get me new hair?”
My eyes suddenly smarted.
I kissed her forehead.
“I’m sure he will”
She grinned in satisfaction, her hands playing with my hair.
“New hair as pretty as yours mummy.”

I’m her mummy, her daddy and her Santa.
Call me crazy if you will, but I made a wig for my baby with my hair. Unusual perhaps but then I’ve never been known to be ‘usual’ now have I?
I smile at his retreating back.
“Merry Christmas” I murmur.


That’s it!

%d bloggers like this: