As Is Christmas eve...
Inspired by A visit from St Nicholas written by Clement Clarke Moore
A VISIT FROM DR DICK
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the ward
Not a patient was stirring, not even the bored.
The stockings were worn by the man I'll call Bess
In hopes they'd go well with his after work dress.
The patients were settled all drugged in their beds
While visions of presents danced in their heads.
And Sandie was bleeding, right through her clothes
Had just had a flooding, which every lass loathes.
When in to the changing room Sandie did go
I heard she was met by a man who'd never heard no.
Away back through the door was not even a choice
Tore off her upset, and her discomfort did voice.
The man stood his ground and didn't back down
Gave poor Sandie a fright, the six foot tall clown.
When she told him his presence was not the done thing
“But I’m a woman, a lady, I'm a queen not a king.”
With his reasons so creepy and frankly quite odd
I know in my gut that he’s an AGP bod.
More crap from his mouth about how he'd the right
And he whinged and he whined late into the night.
“Now Sandie. Now Sandie. I'm a woman I am
On this I do swear I'm all woman, not man.
To the top of my head, to the tip of my willy
Now take off your clothes, and stop being silly.
As sure as the sun shines in the night sky
When up is now down. Now why would I lie?”
So up with his arms, as he took off his top
With a smile on his face, when his scrub bottoms drop.
And when he was finished Sandie tried to explain
The reasons beyond him, alas ‘twas in vain.
As he walked out the door she shook like a leaf
Down she sank to the ground in instant relief.
He was dressed in his scrubs when she'd gone to get changed
And was wearing his street clothes as words were exchanged.
A man that had been in no danger at all
And could have left at the start now started to bawl.
His eyes they were wet, his demeanour sooo sad
His mission right now, to paint Sandie as bad.
His self-righteous thinking, all the havoc he'd wreak
And that bloody witch, she’d wish she'd never dare speak.
The froth and the bile that would spill from his gob
And his aim in this all - to lose Sandie her job.
He had a phone full of contemporaneous notes
That helped him keep track of his lying and gloats.
He made up his notes about mean terfy Sandie
And saved them for when they might come in handy.
A twist of the knife and a tilt of his head
Soon all would bow down once gossip had spread.
He would show them who's boss, who's cock of the walk
And he’d close down the women, they’d now not dare talk.
And after he'd spoken to a female boss
And spewed out a load of his made up old dross
He was walked to his car to ensure he was 'safe'
And sent on his way, the poor little waif!
But I heard Sandie exclaim as he drove out of sight
"Happy Tribunal you arsehole, and to being proved right."