by Nick Gisburne
The Dying, Dead and Undead Winter Ball
Its decadence deflated after dark
The worst satanic orgy of them all
Pathetic as a werewolf baby’s bark
The walkers of the night are frosty folk
A holy water fountain caused a stir
But crosses in the cocktails, just a joke
Were blasted as a vampire racial slur
The sacrifice, supposed to clear the air
Was smothered in a garlic butter paste
The pentagram turned out to be a square
And all the virgin brides were far from chaste
The reason for the treason and the shame?
The caterer, Van Helsing, was to blame
