'Twas the night of the Ardeur, when all through the cript
Jean-Claud was all decked out in Italian black silk
Richard was bitchin' not wantin to share
Even though he had his lil girlfriend Clair.
Damian was raging gone crazy in the head
He needed Anita but she was in bed (but not alone!!!!!!)
Jason was watchin eager to please
While visions of Anita taunted and teased
Edward woulda been packing something shiny and black
Anita calls him, to have at her back
But Edwards not here for us this time
He was put in, just to make it rhyme
Nathaniel was struttin his fur-clad self
As Jean-Claud grabs the whip from the shelf
Lavender eyes and vanilla scented hair
Make for a very beautiful were
With a little bit of plot, tossed in for good measure
No sign of Asher, much to our displeasure
We continue to read and continue to hope
But there's Richard, who just continues to mope
Than there's Sigmund, Anita's stuffed penguin
Why does nothing rhymes with penguin?
It's getting awfully cramped with them all in her bed
Like a big ol' pile of puppies all very well fed
A few more surprises and a few plot twists
Can someone please untie Nathaniel's wrists?
He's banging around the pots and the pans
Baking cookies while Anita makes plans
Jean-Claud once again, as calm as can be:
"Ma petite ... ma petite,
What have you done?
Pissing off the bad guys
Just isn't fun.
Didn't you realize that
When you and Olaf tangled
You should listen to me
And fix this mess you mangled!"
Fast forward several hundred pages of sex
And several dozen bitten necks
The story at last, it comes to an end
And that's where we leave you...
Satisfied or unsatisfied?
And I know I guess it can't exactly be the NIGHT before the Ardeur ... but that's how the poem got started and so decided to just leave it like that.