Friday, December 13, 2002 AD The Wicked Fairy at the Manger My gift for the child:
No wife, kids, home;
No money sense. Unemployable.
Friends, yes. But the wrong sort—
The workshy, woman wogs,
Petty infringers of the law, persons
With notifiable diseases,
Poll tax collectors, tarts;
The bottom rung.
His end?
I think we'll make it
Public, prolonged, painful.
Right, said the baby. That was roughly
What we had in mind.
