The thirteen days of Christmas
My wife walked out on Christmas Eve, she said she’d had enough.
Then, day by day, she sent me cartloads of disgusting stuff:
Twelve outrageous lawyers’ bills,
Eleven claims for child support,
Ten no-longer-needed pills,
Nine repellent ties she’d bought,
Eight CDs I’ve always hated,
Seven films the critics slated,
Six eggs past their sell-by date,
Five old photos of her mother,
Four sardines, obscenely late,
Three expletives from her brother,
Two raised fingers - spread, of course -
One petition for divorce.
The thirteenth day, I won the lottery. Whoopee! I’m rich.
Guess what? She says she’s changed her mind, the greedy little bitch!
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