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It was late in the night, and later in the year,   

Everything was a rush, Christmas soon would be here. 

In the North Pole the workshop was full of tired elves, 

They'd been trying to do all the work by themselves. 

The big dude was busy, doing a job for his missus, 

And if this wasn't done, he'd get no Christmas kisses! 

Santa should have been working, not taking a pause 

But he'd been given “one small task” by Mrs Clause. 

This year, she had said with grim certainty, 

It's your turn to trim the house and put up the tree. 

So Santa was busy. In fact, he was frantic.  

A man of his build wasn't made for this type of antic. 

Bending and stretching, reaching and feeling

Every joint of his aching as he tinseled the ceiling. 

His only assistant was so light and airy, 

Quite ***y useless, that soft Christmas fairy! 

She flitted about and just got in the way,

Each time he picked up a trinket, she'd float past and say - 

“Ohh that's so lovely, but where will it go? 

Please tell me Santa, I just need to know!” 

As he bent and he stretched, while she twittered and flew, 

He fumed to himself: “I don't know what I'll do” 

“That ***y fairy, she's no help at all. 

I wish you'd shut up. And get that tree in from the hall!” 

So he ignored her twittering, her endless chatter. 

As she asked where to put baubles he snapped, “Doesn't matter”! 

“Just get all the tinsel, the candles, the strings. 

Up high round the room, make good use of your wings”. 

As he tried to untie the lights that were tangled, 

She'd interrupt and distract him, 'till his thoughts were all mangled. 

She kept messing around. “What about this?” She would ask. 

But she just couldn't do it. Couldn't stick to one task. 

And so it went on as she kept interrupting.  

Soon, Santa could feel his anger erupting. 

“I really can't cope”, he thought, “She's such a twit”, 

“This job would be done if not for her shit!”. 

“If she asks me once more, “where should this go?” 

“I swear I'll bend her right over and then she will know!”. 

And then it did happen. The tragedy occurred. 

The scream, then the tears. That's all the elves heard. 

They ran in, they stared, saw the look on his face.  

Then saw the fairy, in a very sore place. 

“What happened?” they cried. “It's her fault”, Santa spat. 

“When I picked up the tree, she asked. “Where will you put that?” 

And that's why, dear readers, to this day you will see. 

A fairy, impaled by her ass, atop the Christmas tree. 

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