Christmas Foals by: Wangew_Wick


A Holiday Poem by Wangew_Wick

The bedrooms were quiet, and no one spoke a word,

For all kids know that Santa won’t come if you’re heard.

The Christmas tree lights were left on to console

A box underneath filled with bright Christmas Foals.

They slept in a pile colored red, green, and white

Knowing they’d meet “nyu daddehs” once it became light.

And a “nyu mummah,” too. Lots of love and warm hugs

Awaited the foals who (for now) remained snug.

The children had begged Mom and Dad for a fluff,

And a train, and a dollhouse, and all kinds of stuff.

They had been good all year—of that there was no doubt,

So Dad checked to see when the specials were out.

FluffMart had the best deal on holiday cheer;

Their fluffies were cheapest at this time of year.

The Christmas foals’ prices were well within reach—

You could get half a dozen for five dollars each.

“The foals were a bargain,” Dad said on the phone,

“Besides, they do better when they’re not alone.”

Plus, when you’ve got three kids—a girl and two boys—

the last thing you want is them fighting for toys.

Mom was sold on the plan, so they bought them last minute:

A deluxe fluffy playset, with six foals tucked in it!

And so, the foals rested, awaiting the morn;

Two pegasi, three earthies and one unicorn.

The kids all awoke at a quarter past six,

And ran down the stairs screaming like three lunatics.

The foals awoke, too, and they all cheered with glee,

Pawing at their box nestled under the tree.

The excited children all grabbed for the foals.

But before Mom could get things under her control,

Chaos had ensued. One earthie was crushed,

Though none of the kids noticed amid the rush.

The older boy, Evan, picked up one with wings.

“Wuv upsies! Wan fwy!” cried the tinny-voiced thing.

It soon changed its mind—but too late, all in all—

as it crushed its skull when it smacked into the wall.

Young Austin got the choo choo for which he had asked,

And he soon set himself to a marvelous task:

He tied a small unicorn onto the tracks

And then reached for the Batman marked “From: Uncle Max”.

The white filly struggled from where she was tied.

“Nu wike wopey-huggies!” she bitched and she cried.

She wriggled and flailed, but she just couldn’t shake it.

The train was too fast. The hero didn’t make it.

A bedazzler became Emma’s most favorite gift.

She mastered it fast and decided to lift

A white pegasus out of the box—a young colt—

Who, feeling the sting of the pins, gave a jolt.

“Wowsest owwies!” he screamed as she pierced wing and limb.

That small child bedazzled the fuck out of him.

He couldn’t escape her with kicks, writhes or jumps,

and soon bled out after she pierced both his lumps.

The little red earthie found a potted cactus

(he didn’t want to be used for target practice).

But the boys with their NERF guns would not be denied.

They shot him over and again ‘til he died.

The last little fluff cowered under the tree,

And huu huued and cried, “Nu can see wastest babbeh!”

But see her they did, and the two youngest kids

Made a break for her while she squinted her eyelids.

“Nu huwt babbeh!” she wailed as both kids grabbed a part

Of the last Christmas foal as she let out a fart

And scaredy poopies, too, but that made the kids laugh.

They giggled and squealed as they ripped her in half.

Mom was horrified at all the carnage before her.

She couldn’t believe her kids caused all this horror.

There were foal entrails scattered all over the floor

And to clean it all up—that would be quite a chore!

She made for the kitchen where Dad ate some toast

With two eggs and some leftover holiday roast.

Then she asked, “Are you happy? The foals are all dead!

The kids are all playing with boxes instead!”

“Fluffies aren’t for destruction—they’re for love and hugs!

But our kids just…just slaughtered them like they were thugs!

What the hell do we do now? They cost thirty bucks.

I won’t spend that again. Goddammit, this just sucks!”

Dad thought for a minute and gave a loud sigh,

As if he was mulling a thoughtful reply.

Then he shrugged as he opened the fridge for a beer,

And said, “Fuck it. They’ll be half-price after New Year’s.”


Now this is true poetry!

Giving fluffies to children is a bad, bad idea. Like, what would you expect a pack of gremlins to do?


I read it like a doctor Seuss story

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Children, the true horrors. Lmao.


in a lot of my favorite stories, the humans are the real hellgremlins


I mean, isn’t that the way it should be?

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That small child bedazzled the fuck out of him. You are good, good, good. I live for silly poems.