‘Twas the night before Sharon Needles Day

Sharon Needles

Sharon Needles

Twas the night of June 12th, and on that day,
Sharon Needles was honored; it was awesomely gay.
The slingbacks were placed by the chimney with care,
Else Alisa Summers would mop her a pair.

The Heathers were nestled, all snug in their beds,
While visions of BoobsForQueens danced in their heads.
And Mamma in her Vers-Aych, and I in my tuck,
Were getting ready for a nice long . . . Um, nap.

When out on the street arose such a clatter,
I had to check my dictionary for the definition of “clatter”.
I went to the window, to silence the sound,
“It’s 4am bitch, would you keep that shit down?”

The moonlight that shone through the L.A. smog,
Could barely illuminate was laid in the fog,
But what to my watering eyes did appear,
But a floating hearse, and eight flying queers.

With a fierce bitch at the wheel, so beautiful and lean,
It was Sharon Needles, our spooky queen.
More rapid than eagles, those queens did sashay,
And they pranced and they vogued; Sharon called them by name:

“On Latrice Royale, on Willam, on Milan and Chad Michaels!
On Phi Phi O’Hara, Jiggly Caliente, Dida Ritz and Kenya Michaels!
We’re gonna make every day Halloween!
Now prance I say! Prance my queens!”

And then on my roof I heard the sound,
Of sixteen stiletto heels touching down.
She squeezed down the chimney with her sack of toys,
To give to the weird little girls and boys.

She broke into my place, and stole my PBR,
The only drink befitting a drag superstar.
Just when I thought she was done, she downed a dozen more,
Then dumped the contents of her sack on my floor.

Her face was painted; Her hair was on point,
And her eyes were lit up like the end of a joint.
Her sequined dress was covered in blood and gore,
Whether it was her’s or someone else’s, I couldn’t be sure.

When she was done wrecking my place, she left without a word,
Save for a burp as she flipped me the bird.
She climbed up the chimney, back into her hearse,
And she- wait, did that bitch steal my purse?

She flew off into the night with her team of queens,
And called out into the night, with one final scream:
“Happy Sharon Needles Day! Being weird is never wrong!
Now I’m going back to Party City where I belong!”

About JEREMY FEIST 5002 Articles
Jeremy Feist is an (ahem) entertainer from Toronto, Canada. He writes, acts, and performs on stage, and has been a writer for Popbytes for almost three years now. He lives in Toronto with his boyfriend, his incredibly dumb but cute puppy, and his immortal cat.