Three Insomniac Men

Two Slaughtered Hens
And A Party in the Pantry

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse!

Well, all except for three!

We three kings indeed.

One loud drunk - who moaned continually about his pounding head whlie simultaneously reaching for the next bottle - with two insomniacs as the innocent baby ( after a drowsy hangover ) slept peacefully in the manger. All the bottles of wine in the house were finished after the party earlier. And yet none could fall asleep.

You know me. I'd have tried sex. Didn't I hear somewhere that men snore after sex? Surely the delicious endorphins released after a good sweaty orgasm would help induce sleep?

True enough as the hours ticked by, one of the insomniacs grew horny and since he was somewhat an unprincipled libertine, suggested a carnal half-hour of getting-to-know-you the time-honoured Biblical way.


Lemme tell you a secret!
The shocked silence was near palpable. One would have imagined that he'd suggested heavy S&M with additional fisting followed by golden showers rather than just some plain vanilla suck-and-blow.

Unfortunately there were prudes amongst the three as well. The revolutionary ( though admittedly depraved ) idea seemed almost sacrilegious to these celibate monks of old - no doubt recently released from a secluded mountaintop monastery for the festive season. Rather than play nice and submissively accept some good-natured yet utterly debauched gropes, the other two puritanical souls squealed for their vaunted virginity, leapt to the high ceiling beams and decided to strap on their metal-studded chastity belts instead. Hardly the right elements for an invigorating threesome.

So much for a time for giving.

But to placate the horny insomniac who'd grown increasingly violent, the other king wisely decided to play Scheherazade instead ( rather than sacrifice his increasingly endangered shorts ) and started spinning his 1001th tale of betrayal, woe and herpes. Of course instead of getting his head lopped off with the executioner's thirsty blade when he paused for significant dramatic effect, our stammering Scheherazade got a quick satisfying grope ( yelping in protest all the while ) instead to the creepy tinkles of Shiina Ringo's Ekimae.

Near the end of the harrowing tale, the horny insomniac was happy and heard to exclaim,

"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."