The Night Before Vargsmas 2015

vargy

 

‘Twas the night Before Vargsmas, and all through the yard

Not a drunk to be found in the church ruins charred

Varg had done all their laundry, and hung up their socks

He endured online harassment, the jeers and the mocks

 

Scotty with his dreadlocks and Robin her wit

Had declared most certainly they did not give a shit

The drunks were all passed out in a pile on the floor

When it came to beer and whiskey the answer always was “More!”

 

When out by the tombstones there came such a howling

The drunks awoke to find a fat blogger jowling

“You guys are mean” said the blogger and declared her butt to be hurt

“You don’t respect the genre” said she, her words very curt

 

The moon shining bright on this blogger and church

Upon which the drunks did happily besmirch

“Behold here the drunks from in the graveyard,

Our hilarity is legendary, don’t think so hard.”

 

Johnny Zontal there bellowed, declaring his place

While Jenna was sassing, makeup on her face

Sarah was perched on a tombstone like a magnificent red cat

Her arms outstretched like gigantic bat

 

The horror writer continued, bitching and moaning

“Good god woman, isn’t it your mother, you should be phoning?”

The drunks they then turned, when they heard his call

Varg Vikernes’s voice over the charred church did fall

 

This madman, this saviour, this viking most tr00

He watched over his drunk charges to ensure they were not blue

Like a nursemaid, a nanny or something like a father

For anyone but the drunks, he would not bother

 

Calling to his charges, the drunks in the graveyard

“Now Rigby, Now Robin, Now Jenna and Scotty,

Johnny and Sarah, do not be so naughty..”

The drunks rolled their eyes, hangovers most apparent

Who ever thought they’d have a black metal parent?

 

Varg emerged from the headstones, gas can strapped to his back

The horror blogger readied her ham fists for attack

“Now blogger,” chided Vargy, “It is not so bad,

the horror genre is boring, now don’t be so sad.”

 

“But my butt it is sore and my vinyl purse torn

And you guys didn’t even like watching my porn..”

Vargy’s face crinkled, remembering that tape

Having been forced to watch it like visual rape

 

His hands balled into fists, the rage it was rising

“This is going to end badly,” whispered Robin, surmising

Out of his black metal sack, Vargy pulled a large knife

And right in the snow he took that horror blogger’s life

 

Over and over he kept stabbing, slicing and beating

23 times in self defense, his old alibi repeating

“Death to all falses,” his whispered words stated

Until the bloodlust inside his soul was sated

 

He turned to his group, the DIAG crew

He bequeathed to them some mead, and human blood stew

“Drink deep of your enemies, fill your souls with rage,

Thank you for having me, now let’s turn this page..”

 

“..it is to the new year we are now turning..

May the fires in your heart be those of churches burning..

And now I must depart, for I fear the breaking of day

Plus I must work on my new column,  Sexual Sunday.”

 

And with that Varg disappeared into the smoke

The fire within the hearts of the drunks he did stoke

Just before his wispy hair disappeared from sight,

He called to them all, “Happy Vargsmas to all, and stay spooky, alright?”

 

 

 

 

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