The Fight Before Christmas

Although this isn't an Eric Northman story or poem, it is holiday-related. A trip to the grocery store last night inspired this bit of fluff. It was a zoo in there. Hope you all have a happy holiday season. I apologize if some of the language offends anyone.

'Twas the night before Christmas, and inexplicably, I swore.
I needed some sour cream for a dish we all adore.
So I ventured forth in my scarf and my coat,
In hopes that there would still be a carton to tote.

The roads were so slick that I cursed once or twice.
I could be heard to say, "Damn that slick, fricking ice!"
As I arrived at the store, luckily, all in one piece
Then as I saw the drove. Egads, where were the police?

I let out a huge sigh, and made myself go in,
And once inside, all the trouble did begin.
Those fuckers were all out, the damned holiday corps.
They were everywhere, everywhere, and again, I swore.

Then a pusher, a shover, a cart-smashing bitch
Got in my face, screaming; my mind did unhitch.
"Get out of my way," she yelled with a sneer.
"What's wrong with you? Don't you know how to steer?"

"My steering's just fine," said I. "And let me be blunt.
I was here first, how dare you confront!
I was minding my own business, and formerly calm,
So back off, dear, before I slap you with my palm!"

Her fist did connect with my cheek, and it crunched.
Damn, I didn't see it coming, I'd been sucker punched.
Someone yelled, "Cat fight" as I picked up the glass,
A bottle of sparkling cider, and aimed it at her ass.

It connected with a thonk but did her no harm
Shit, I'd have been better off using a loaded side arm.
The kicking, the punching, the fighting began
As we tore up the aisle, knocking over a blind man.

Down with a flurry of limbs, screaming, we did fall
She plastered me with cottage cheese, of all the gall.
I shook up the cider, and aimed it at her face,
And when the top came off, it went all over the place.

The onlooking crowd of shoppers, mouths open in awe,
Except the men, who were smirking. It was the final straw.
"You find this funny?" I asked. "You perverted swine."
I kicked the downed wench, and glared one final time.

I gathered up my goods, as best as I could,
Covered in cheese and apple cider, I would make good.
At the checkout, the clerk asked, "What happened to you?"
"It was an altercation," I said. "On aisle two."

As I excited the store, and placed my bags in the trunk,
I slipped in the parking lot and fell like a drunk.
As I got into my car, and back out on the road,
I realized I'd forgotten the sour cream in the load.

I wasn't going back, no fucking way in hell.
"Screw, the sour cream," I said aloud, more a yell.
Then cursing under my breath, I drove down the street,
Saying, "Merry fucking, Christmas, to all," my final greet.