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25 variations of Twas night before Christmas

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Matt Monroe

unread,

Dec 8, 1996, 3:00:00 AM12/8/96

I posted one of these last week and said I had a bunch more. Well, here
they are, my collection of variations of the Christmas classic, Twas the
night before Christmas.

Matt

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Matthew Monroe Black Angus : Black Angus
Chemistry Major Black Angus : Texas Longhorn
University of Wyoming Black Angus : Brown Swiss
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25 variations of "Twas the Night before Christmas"

Subject: Politically correct xmas

POLITICALLY CORRECT XMAS

(This poem is copyright 1992 by Harvey Ehrlich. It is free to distribute,
without changes, as long as this notice remains intact).

"Twas the night before Christmas and Santa's a wreck...
How to live in a world that's politically correct?
His workers no longer would answer to "Elves" --
"Vertically challenged" they were calling themselves.
And labor conditions at the north pole
Were alleged by the union to stifle the soul.
Four reindeer had vanished, without much propriety,
Released to the wilds by the Humane Society.
And equal employment had made it quite clear
That Santa had better not use just reindeer.
So Dancer and Donner, Comet and Cupid,
Were replaced by 4 pigs, and you know that looked stupid!
The runners had been removed from his sleigh;
The ruts were termed dangerous by the E.P.A.
And people had started to call the cops
When they heard sled noises on their rooftops.
Second-hand smoke from his pipe had his workers quite frightened,
His fur trimmed red suit was called "unenlightened."
And to show you the strangeness of life's ebbs and flows,
Rudolph was suing over unauthorized use of his nose
And had gone on Geraldo, in front of the nation,
Demanding millions in overdue compensation.
So, half the reindeer were gone; and his wife,
Who suddenly said she'd had enough of this life,
Joined a self-help group, packed, and left in a whiz,
Demanding from now on her title was "Ms."
And as for the gifts, why, he'd ne'er had a notion
That making a choice could cause so much commotion.
Nothing of leather, nothing of fur,
Which meant nothing for him. And nothing for her.
Nothing that might be construed to pollute,
Nothing to aim, nothing to shoot.
Nothing that clamored or made lots of noise,
Nothing for just girls, nor just for the boys.
Nothing that claimed to be gender specific,
Nothing that's warlike or non-pacific.
No candy or sweets (they were bad for the teeth)
Nothing that seemed to embellish a truth.
And fairy tales, while not yet forbidden,
Were like Ken and Barbie - better off hidden.
For they raised the hackles of those psychological
Who claimed the only good gift was one ecological.
No baseball, no football - someone could get hurt!
Besides, playing sports exposed kids to dirt.
Dolls were said to be sexist, and should be passe;
And Nintendo would rot your entire brain away.
So Santa just stood there, disheveled, perplexed;
He just could not figure out what to do next.
He tried to be merry, tried to be gay,
But you've got to be careful with that word today.
His sack was quite empty, limp to the ground;
Nothing fully acceptable was to be found.
Something special was needed, a gift that he might
Give to all without angering the left or the right.
A gift that would satisfy, with no indecision,
Each group of people, every religion;
Every ethnicity, every hue,
Everyone, everywhere - even you.
So here is that gift, it's price beyond worth...
"May you and your loved ones enjoy peace on earth."

Subject: Chemistry Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas,
The lab was quite still;
Not a Bunsen was burning
(Nor had they the will).
The test tubes were placed
In their racks with great care,
In hopes Father Chemistry
Soon would be there.

The students were sleeping
So sound in their dorms,
All dreaming of fluids
And Crystalline forms.
Lab-Aids in their aprons
And I in my smock.

When outside the lab
There arose such a roar
I leaped from my stool
And fell flat on the floor.
Out ot the fire escape
All of us flew.
What was the commotion?
Not one of knew.

The flood-lights shone out
O're the campus so bright
It looked like old Stockholm
On Nobel Prize Night.
My fume-blinded eyes
Then viewed (dare I say?)
Eight anions pulling
A water-trough sleigh.

And holding the bonds
Tied to each one of them
Was a figure I knew
As our own Papa Chem.
With speeds in excess
Of most X-rays they came.
As they Dopplered along
He called each one by name.

"Now Nitrite, now Phosphate,
Now Borate, now Chloride
On Citrate, on Bromate,
On Sulfite and Oxide.

Forget what you know
Of that randomness stuff,
Let's go straight to that roof,
If you've quanta enough."

As fluids Bernoullian
Behave in a pinch,
Those ions said "Alchemist
This is a cinch."
So up to the lab-roof
Those "chargers" they sped
With Pop Chemistry safe
In his water-trough sled.

Just a microsec later
Electroscopes showed
Charged particles coming
To our lab abode
We raced back inside,
And what d'ya think?
Down the fume-hood Pop Chem fell,
Right into the sink.

He was dressed in a lab-coat,
Quite ragged and old,
With removable buttons
(The style, we're told)
A tray-full of beakers
He clutched to his heart--
And under his arm
Was an orbital chart.

His eyes through his goggles
I just couldn't see
His hands were all yellow
From H-N-O-3.
His head was quite bald
With a fringe all around
Like a ring test for iron,
That same shade of brown.

He puffed a cigar
With a smell not at all
Unlike the organic lab
Right down the hall.
The smoke billowed forth
From his angular face
And with Brownian Movement
Enveloped the place.

He was thin as a match
And not terribly tall
He wasn't the type
I'd expected at all
But a look at his clothes,
In the lab's harsh white light,
With their acid-burn holes--
He's a chemist all right!

He didn't say much
(He had no time to kill)
And filled all the test tubes
With nary a spill.
Then placing them bak
On the benches with care
He dashed to the fume-hood
And rose through the air.

He called to his team
And his ions took off
And kinetics took care
Of Pop Chem and his trough,
But I heard him cry out
As he flew down the street
"Merry Holidays to all!
May your stockrooms stay neat!"

Subject: Cajun Christmas

Cajun Night Before Christmas
by "Trosclair"
Published by Pelican Publishing Co. 1988

'Twas the night before Christmas
An' all t'ru de house
Dey don't a t'ing pass
Not even a mouse
De chirren been nezzle
Good snug on de flo'
An' Mamm pass de pepper
T'ru de crack on de do'.

Den Mama in de fireplace
Done roas' up de ham
Stir up de gumbo
An' make bake de yam.
Den out on de by-you
Dey got such a clatter
Make soun' link old Boudreau
Done fall off his ladder.

I run like a rabbit
To got to de do'
Trip over the dorg
An' fall on de flo'.
As I look out de do'
In de light o' de moon
I t'ink "Manh, you crazy
Or got ol' too soon."

Cuz dere on de by-you
W'en I stretch ma' neck stiff
Dere's eight alligator
A pullin' de skiff.
An' a little fat drover
Wit' a long pole-ing stick
I know r'at away
Got to be ole St. Nick.

Mo' fas'er and fas'er
De 'gator dey came
He whistle an' holler
An' call dem by name:
"Ha Gaston!
Ha, Tiboy!
Ha, Pierre an' Alcee'
Gee, Ninette!
Gee Suzette!
Celeste and Renee!"

"To de top o' de porch
To de top o' de wall
Make crawl, alligator
An' be sho' you don' fall."

Like Tante Flo's cat
T'ru de treetop he fly
W'en de big ol' houn' dorg
Come a run hisse'f by
Like dat up de porch
Dem ole 'gator clim!
Wit' de skiff full o' toy
An' St. Nicklus behin'.
Den on top de porch roof
It soun' like de hail
W'en all dem big 'gator
Done sot down dey tail.

Den down de chimney
I yell with a bam
An' St. Nicklus fall
An' sit on de yam.
"Sacre!" he axclaim
"Ma pant got a hole
I done sot ma'se'f
On dem red hot coal."

He got on his foots
An' jump like a card
Out to de flo'
Where he lan' wit' a SPLAT!

He was dress in musk-rat
From his head to his foot
An' his clothes is all dirty
Wit' ashes an' soot.
A sack full o' playt'ing
He t'row on his back
He look like a burglar
An' dass fo' a fack.

His eyes how dey shine
His dimple how merry!
Maybe he been drink
De wine from blackberry.
His cheek was like a rose
His nose like a cherry
On secon' t'ought maybe
He lap up de sherry.

Wit' snow-white chin whisker
An' quiverin' belly
He shook w'en he laugh
Like de stomberry jelly!
But a wink in his eye
An' a shook o' his head
Make my confi-dence dat
I don' got to be scared.

He don' do no talkin'
Gone straight to his work
Put playt'ing in sock
An' den turn wit' a jerk.

He put bot' his han'
Dere on top o' his head
Cas' an eye on de chimney
An' den he done said:
"Wit' all o' dat fire
An' dem burnin' hot flame
Me I ain' goin' back
By de way dat I came."

So he run out de do'
An' he clim' to de roof
He ain' no fool, him
For to make one more goof.
He jump in his skiff
An' crack his big whip.
De 'gator move down
An' don' make one slip.

An' I hear him shout loud
As a splashin' he go
"Merry Christmas to all
'Til I saw you some mo'!"

Subject: English Christmas

The Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas,
When all through the flat,
Not a creature was sober,
Not even the cat.
The glasses were placed
On the mantel with care,
In hopes that our Nicholas
Soon would be there;
The children were dining
At Tony's and Fred's,
Where speakeasy vintages
Danced through their heads.

And Mama with her whiskey,
And I with my gin,
Had just settled down
For an evening of sin.
When out in the lane
There arose such a clatter
I swallowed an olive--
Now what was the matter?
A gulp to the window
I fell like a flash,
Tore open the shutters
And threw up the sash.

A light on the crest
Of the new-fallen sleet
Gave a luster of mid-day
To things on the street;
When what to my wondering
Eyes should appear
But a truck loaded down
With a mountain of beer,
And a little old driver,
So lively and quick,
I knew in a moment
It must be out Nick!

More rapid than eagles
His helpers they came,
And he whistled and shouted
And called them by name,
"Now Lefty! Now Louie!
Now, Alky and Witzen!
On, Conky! On, Chowder!
On, Harry and Blitzen!
To the top of the house--
Ring the bells in the hall!
Now dash away, dash away,
Dash away all!"

As dry leaves before
The wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle,
Mount to the sky,
So up to the top-floor
The helpers they flew
With a lift full of treasure--
And Nicholas too.
And then in the twinkling
I heard on the flags
The prancing and pawing
Of bottles in bags.

As I drew in my head
And was turning around,
In the doorway our Nicholas
Came with a bound.
He was dressed like a Mayor
From his head to his feet,
And his tie was all spangled
With diamonds and sleet;
A bag full of beer
He had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler
Just opening his pack.

His rings, how they twinkled!
His sniffle, how merry!
His hands were like roses,
His eye like a cherry;
A scar drew his mouth
To one side like a bow,
And the foam on his chin
Was as white as the snow.
The gold of the dentist
Was bright in his teeth,
And a derby encircled
His head like a wreath.

He laid down his burden
To draw forth a sample,
And snapped off the cap
With a thumb that was ample.
He was cheerful and prompt--
An expensive young begger--
And we laughed when we saw him--
Our Christmas Bootlegger!
A wink of his eye,
And a twist of his head,
Soon gave us to know
We had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word,
But went straight to his work,
And filled all the glasses;
Then turned with a jerk,
And, laying his finger
aside of his nose,
And giving a nod:
"Down the hatch! Here she goes!"
He sprang to the door,
To his men gave a whistle,
And away they all went
Like the down of a thistle;
But I heard him exclaim
'Ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to All,
And to All a good night!"

Subject: Guam Christmas

MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM GUAM

Tis the night before Christmas
and Santa's relaxed.
Guam's surf is up--
Santa's surf board is waxed.

The Zories are hung
by the Aircon with care,
And the Kiddies all know
Santa soon will be there.

Once the tide goes out,
and he's through "hangin' ten"
He'll stop to see Barbara,
and Charlie, and Ben.

A snack's been prepared
by Becky and Sam.
It's that old island favorite:
Tortillas and Spam.

After giving out presents,
for his surfboard he'll reach.
Santa's parting remark will be
"Back to the Beach!"

He'll join all those tourists
who visit for fun.
When it comes to vacations,
he says, "Guam's number one!"

And you'll hear him exclaim
'ere he boogies away:
Merry Christmas to all,
And to all, "Hafa Adai!"

Subject: Hick Christmas

A VISIT FROM ST. HICK

'Twas late Christmas eve, and throughout the White House
All slumbered but Socks (who was chewing a mouse)
When all of a sudden a thunderous roar
Rattled the East Wing from rafter to floor.
Unsure if the noise was just gas or artillery,
Bill Clinton took action: he deputized Hillary.
In her robe and her slippers, she trudged to the source
Of the noise and saw nothing, but then heard a coarse
Texas twang from the fireplace clamor
"Down here! Are y'all just as blind as those tinhorn reindeer?"

There, on the hearth, 'midst the timber and tinder,
Sat H. Ross Perot, all covered wit cinder.
"Your flue," he complained, "is disgusting with soot.
You gave far too many staff members the foot.
Cutting budgets is wonderful; better is cheaper.
But you need either Zoe's or Kimba's housekeeper.
From ashes that thick, someone's breathing might fail.
Thank goodness, like Bill, that I didn't inhale."

"Why, Ross," replied Hillary, "pray tell what is it
To which Bill and I owe this Christmas Eve visit?
You're certainly welcome to use the front door.
Did you come down the chimney to hide from Al Gore?"

Shaking the layer of ash from his head,
Ross brushed his flattop, glowered and said:
"No, M'am. I'm a shareholder in Santa Claus, Inc.,
Whose dividends recently started to sink.
When I finally cornered old Santa himself,
He offered to hire me on as an elf!

So I planned my attack, set my financing snares,
Then bought all the company's outstanding shares.
Christmas trees won't be all that get trimmed from now on;
The era of deficit budgets is gone.
The business is gonna be run right because
All day, every day, now I am Santa Claus."

From his inside coat pocket Ross whipped out a chart
And a pointer he brandished with well-practiced art.
"Now, you look at this. You see this here graph?
The way Santa's workshop was run is a laugh.
Those North Pole utility bills are a joke,
And the union-scale wages will soon have us broke.
We need much, much cheaper electrical power,
And elves who don't make fifteen dollars an hour."
For dramatic effectiveness, Ross took a pause,
Then resumed his debut as the new Santa Claus.

"Each new day brings another environment rule.
Recycling toys is a pain in the Yule!
The slogan 'keep the North Pole white'
Is driving expenditures clear out of sight.
Luckily, NAFTA provides a solution,
A haven in which I can discharge pollution
Into the air or the land of my neighbor,
Where the powe union committee:
I'm moving the workshop to Mexico City."

Then, in a twinkle, up the chimney he went,
Back through the soot out the cold rooftop vent.
But not before saying, with a wink and a nod,
"Buenas noches, Miss Hillary, and Feliz Navidad!"

Subject: Wordy Christmas

Ecstatic Yuletide

'Twas the nocturnal segment of the diurnal period preceding the
annual Yuletide celebration and throughout our place of residence,
kinetic activity was not in evidence among the possessors of this
potential, including that species of diminutive rodent known as
Mus musculus.

Hosiery was meticulously suspended from the forward edge of the
wood-burning caloric apparatus, pursuant to our anticipatory
pleasure regarding an imminent visitation from an eccentric
philanthropist among whose folkloric appellations is the honorific
title of St. Nick.

The prepubescent siblings, comfortably ensconced in their respective
accommodations of repose, were experiencing subconscious visual
hallucinations of variegated saccarinose fruit confections
performing choreography through their cerebrums. My conjugal
partner and I, attired in our nocturnal head-coverings, were about
to take slumberous advantage of the Arctic-like gloom when upon
the avenaceous exterior portion of the grounds there ascended such a
cacophony of dissonance that I felt compelled to arise with alacrity
from my place of repose for the purpose of ascertaining the precise
source thereof.

Hastening to the casement, I forthwith opened the barriers sealing
this fenestration, noting thereupon that the lunar brilliance without,
reflecting as it was upon the surface of a recent crystalline aqueous
precipitation, might be said to rival that of the solar meridian
itself--thus permitting my incredulous optical sensory organs to
behold a miniature airborne runnered conveyance, drawn by an octet
of diminutive specimens of the genus Rangifer, piloted by a miniscule,
aged chauffeur so ebullient and nimble that it became instantly apparent
to me that he was indeed our anticipated beatified caller.

With this ungulate motive power traveling at a greater vertiginous
velocity than patriotic alar predators, he vociferated loudly, expelled
breath musically through contracted labia, and addressed each of the
octet by his or her cognomen: "Now Dasher, now Dancer," et al, guiding
them to the uppermost exterior level of our abode, through which structure
I could readily distinguish the concatenations of each of the sum total
of the thirty-two cloven pedal extremities.

As I retracted my cranium from its erstwhile location and was performing
a pi radians pivot, our distinguished visitant achieved, with utmost
celerity, via a downward saltation, entry by way of the ceramic smoke
passage. He was clad entirely in animal integuments, soiled by the ebony
residue from partial oxidation of carboniferous fuels. His resemblance
to a street vendor I attributed to the plethora of assorted playthings
which he bore dorsally in a commodious cloth receptacle.

His orbs were scintillant with reflected luminosity, while his sub
maxillary dermal indentations gave every evidence of engaging amiability.
The capillaries of his malar regions and nasal appurtenances were engorged
with crimson circulatory fluid which, its chroma suffusing the dermal
layers, approximated the retinal sensation reflected by the Prunus avium,
or sweet cherry. His amusing sub- and supralabials resembled nothing
so much as a flexible, curved strip of wood associated with the American
aborigines and their ambient, hirsute, facial adornment had an absence
of coloring comparable to crystalline frozen hydrogen oxide vapor.

Clenched firmly between his incisors was the posterior projection of a
calumet whose gray colloidal aerosol fumes, forming a tenuous elliptical
torus about his occiput, were suggestive of a decorative seasonal circlet
of holly. His visage was wider than it was high, and when he waxed mirthful,
his corpulent abdominal region undulated in the manner of inpectinated
fruit syrup in a colloidal gel state within a hemispherical container.
He was of Napoleonic stature, neither more nor less than an obese, jocund,
multigenarian gnome, the optical perception of whom rendered me visibly
frolicsome despite every effort to refrain from being so affected by
this risiblity. By rapidly lowering and then elevating one eyelid and
rotating his head slightly eccentricly, he indicated that trepidation
on my part was superfluous.

Without utterance, but with noticeable dispatch, he commenced filling
the aforementioned appended hosiery with various of the articles of
merchandise extracted from his aforementioned previously dorsally
transported cloth receptacle. Upon completion of this task, he
executed an abrupt pi radian rotation about the vertical axis, placed
a single manual digit in lateral juxtaposition to his olfactory organ,
inclined his cranium forward in a gesture of leave taking, and effected
his egress by saltation up the smoke passage through which he had made
ingress.

He then propelled himself in a short vector onto his rustic winter
conveyance. Contracting his oral sphincter, he emitted a shrill series
of notes to the antlered quadrupeds of burden and proceeded to soar
aloft in a movement hitherto observed chiefly among the seed bearing
portions of a common weed. But I overheard his parting exclamation,
audible immediately prior to his vehiculation beyond the limits of
visibility: "Ecstatic Yuletide to the planetary constituency, and
to the selfsame assemblage, my sincerest wishes for a salubriously
beneficial and gratifyingly pleasurable period between sunset and dawn."

Subject: Newt Christmas

* 'Twas the Newt Before Christmas *
by Dean Bakopoulos

'Twas the night before Christmas and throughout the White House
Al Gore was eyeing Hillary, peering into her blouse.
The Secret Service men were guarding the premises with care,
for a whole host of Democrats were vacationing there.

Chelsea was nestled all snug in her bed
after locking out Mr. Kennedy and the dirty thoughts in his head.
And Bill in his sportcoat; a heavy grey tweed,
had just fried his brain with some Mexican weed.

When out in the garden came a plethora of noise,
all drunken and rowdy: 'twas Gingrich and the boys!
Bill jumped to the window, and tore open the sash,
"It's a raid boys!" he cried, "Quick, go hide my stash!"

The pot in his blood and the moon on the snow
gave a psychedelic haze to the objects below.
When what to Bill's frantic eyes should appear,
but a slew of Republicans and a keg of ice beer,

with a big old leader, all lively and fat;
He knew it was Newt, "Proponent of GATT!"
As vicious as vipers, the Republicans came,
and Bill recognized them and called them by name.

"Hey Helms! Hey Thurmond! Hey Packwood and Hatch!
Hey Dole and Pataki, it's time for a bash!"
A collective cheer rose out from the crowd,
"Let's listen to Nugent, and turn it up loud!"

Together Dems and Rebublicans danced and sang out in cheer,
"Screw Health Care and Haiti, it's time to drink beer!"
When from the chimney, came a blinding black cloud of soot,
and Limbaugh danced from the fireplace in a red Santa suit.

He moved through the crowd, then held up his hand
and when all was silent, he did a keg stand.
And the crowd raised their cups, as Newt bowed down in prayer,
and champagne flowed freely, just like welfare.

As Kennedy and Reno romped in the Green Room,
the rest of the crooks outlined their Hidden Agenda of Doom:
"We'll pray in schools, we'll shove it down their throats!"
"More welfare, more taxes, we'll still get the votes!"

And they drank, hugged, and danced, they crossed party lines,
and they cheered, "It doesn't matter, we're all bastard swines!"
So they threw out allegiance and partisan crap
and took turns sitting on the president's lap.

And Gephardt and Dole passed out on the lawn,
and awoke in the morning without their pants on.
And Packwood gave Tipper a pat on the rear,
while Judge Thomas and Miss Hill went out for more beer.

Then the party-goers discovered a sight so touching and cute,
President Clinton fast asleep, snuggled up next to Newt.
Santa Limbaugh smiled and threw up on his boots,
"A Merry Clinton to all, and to all a good Newt!"

_______________________
Copyright 1994, by The Michigan Review, Inc.
All Rights Reserved

Written by Dean Bakopoulos, University of Michigan
Typed laboriously by Ryan Posly, University of Michigan
Thanks to Gregory Parker, University of Michigan

Subject: Star Trek Christmas

THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS
==========================
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the ship
Not a circuit was buzzing, not one microchip;
The phasers were hung in the armory securely,
In hopes that no aliens would get up that early.
The crewmen were nestled all snug in their bunks
(Except for the few who were partying drunks);
And Picard in his nightshirt and Bev in her lace,
Had just settled down for a neat face-to-face...
When out in the halls there arose such a racket,
That we leapt from our beds, pulling on pants and jacket.

Away to the lifts we all shot like a gun,
Leapt into the cars and yelled loudly, "Deck One!"
The bridge Red-Alert lights, which flashed through the din,
Gave a lustre of Hades to objects within.
When, what, on the viewscreen, should our eyes behold,
But a weird kind of sleigh, and some guy who looked old.
But the glint in his eyes was so strange and askew
That we knew in a moment it had to be Q.

His sleigh grew much larger as closer he came.
Then he zapped on the bridge and addressed us by name:
"It's Riker! It's Data! It's Worf and Jean-Luc!
It's Geordi! And Wesley, the genetic fluke!
To the top of the bridge, to the top of the hall!
Now float away! Float away! Float away all!"
As leaves in the autumn are whisked off the street,
So the floor of the bridge came away from our feet,
And up to the ceiling our bodies they flew,
As the captain called out, "What the hell is this, Q?!"
The prankster just laughed and expanded his grin,
And, snapping his fingers, he vanished again.

As we took in our plight and were looking around,
The spell was removed, and we crashed to the ground.
Then Q, dressed in fur from his head to his toe,
Appeared once again, to continue the show.
"That's enough!" cried the captain,
"You'll stop this at once!"
And Riker said, "Worf! Take aim at this dunce!"

"I'm deeply offended, Jean-Luc," replied Q,
"I just want to celebrate Christmas with you."
As we scoffed at his words, he produced a large sack.
He dumped out the contents and took a step back.
"I've brought gifts," he said, "just to show I'm sincere.
There's something delightful for everyone here."
He sat on the floor and dug into his pile,
And handed out gifts with his most charming smile:
"For Counsellor Troi, there's no need to explain.
Here's Tylenol-Beta for all of your pain.
For Worf I've some mints as his breath's not too great,
And for Geordi LaForge, an inflatable date.
For Wesley, some hormones, and Clearasil-Plus;
For Data, a joke book; for Riker, a truss.
For Beverly Crusher, there's sleek lingerie,
And for Jean-Luc, the thrill of just seeing her that way."
Then he sprang to his feet with that grin on his face
And clapping his hands, disappeared into space.
But we heard him exclaim as he dwindled from sight,
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good flight!

-- Elliot Smorodinsky

Subject: Tex-Mex Christmas

THE TEX-MEX VERSION OF "THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS"
Jim and Nita Lee (Dec. 1972)

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the casa,
Not a creature ws stirring -- Caramba! Que pasa?
Los ninos were tucked away in their camas,
Some in long underwear, some in pijamas,
While hanging the stockings with mucho cuidado
In hopes that old Santa would feel obligado
To bring all children, both buenos and malos,
A nice batch of dulces and other regalos.
Outside in the yard there arose such a grito
That I jumped to my feet like a fightened cabrito.
I ran to the window and looked out afuera,
And who in the world do you think that it era?
Saint Nick in a sleigh and a big red sombrero
Came dashing along like a crazy bombero.
And pulling his sleigh instead of venados
Were eight little burros approaching volados.
I watched as they came and this quaint little hombre
Was shouting and whistling and calling by nombre:
"Ay Pancho, ay Pepe, ay Cuco, ay Beto,
Ay Chato, ay Chopo, Macuco, y Nieto!"
Then standing erect with his hands on his pecho
He flew to the top of our very own techo.
With his round little belly like a bowl of jalea,
He struggled to squeeze down our old chiminea,
Then huffing and puffing at last in our sala,
With soot smeared all over his red suit de gala,
He filled all the stockings with lovely regalos --
For none of the ninos had been very malos.
Then chuckling aloud, seeming very contento,
He turned like a flash and was gone like the viento.
And I heard him exclaim, and this is verdad,
Merry Christmas to all, and Feliz Navidad!

Subject: Government Shutdown Christmas

Government Shutdown

"Twas the week before Christmas and those sly little elves,
Our congressmen, labored to better themselves.
They cared not a whit what the public might think
"Let them eat cake," some said with a wink.
And putting their thumbs to the tip of their nose,
they waved as they shouted "Anything goes!"
They scoffed at the thought that we might object,
to a tax cut for the wealthy of a posh percent.
They've got prerequisites-franking, per diem, and more --
bargain-priced haircuts and gyms (three of four!)
Paid speaking engagements and meals on the cuff,
celebrity status - (they've sure got it tough!),
Yet they claim they're in touch with the man on the street,
as John Q. Public struggles to make both ends meet.

If all workers decided what they were due,
they'd be getting those fat paychecks too!
But while we take cutbacks or raises quite small,
and one out of 20 has no job at all,
our millionaire Congress decides on the budget
land trimming Medicare and Medicaid will do it, they say.
In this season for giving, our Congress is taking.
We've had it with them and our backs are breaking.
With hard times, disasters, and layoffs on our dockets,
we bit the bullet and they fill their pockets!

Oh jobless, oh homeless, oh desperate and needy -
dare anyone say our Congress is greedy?
If in this feeling I'm not alone,
take up your pen or pick up your phone.
As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,
let the road of your anger mount to the sky.
Indignant, outraged, appalled and beset
let your congressman know that you won't forget!@
When election times comes - and certain it will -
you're voting him out for passing that bill.

More rapid than eagles, their elections assured
they toasted each other and laughed at the herd.
And I heard them exclaim with adjournment at hand,

"Merry Christmas to us, and the public (and Federal workers) be
damned!

Subject: Politically Correct Christmas

Twas the Night before Solstice

Twas the night before solstice and all through the co-op
Not a creature was messing the calm status quo up.

The children all nestled all snug in the their beds,
Dreaming of lentils and warm whole-grain breads.

We'd welcomed the winter that day after school
By dancing and drumming and burning the Yule,

A more meaningful gesture to honor the planet
Than buying more trinkets for Mom or Aunt Janet,

Or choosing a tree just to murder and stump it
And dress it all up like a seasonal strumpet.

My lifemate and I, having turned down the heat,
Slipped under the covers for a well-deserved sleep,

When from out on the lawn there came such a roar
I fell from my futon and rolled to the floor.

I crawled to the window and pulled back the latch,
And muttered, "Aw, where is that Neighborhood Watch?"

I saw there below through the murk of the night
A sleigh and eight reindeer of nonstandard height.

At the reins of that sleigh sat a mean-hearted knave
Who treated each deer like his persunal slave.

I'd seen him before in some ads for car loans,
Plus fast food and soft drinks and cellular phones.

He must have cashed in from his mercantile chores,
Since self-satisfaction just oozed from his pores.

He called each by name, as if he were right
To treat them like humans, entrenching his might:

"Now Donner, now Blitzen," and other such aliases,
Showing his true Eurocentrical biases.

With a snap of his fingers, away they all flew,
Like lumberjacks served up a plate of tofu.

Up to the rooftop they carried the sleigh
(The holes in the shingles are there to this day).

Out bounded the man, who went straight to the flue.
I knew in an instant just what I should do.

After donning my slippers, downstairs did I dash
To see the trespasser emerge from the ash.

His clothes were all covered with soot, but of course,
From our wood-fueled alternative energy source.

Through the grime I distinguished the make of his duds --
He was dressed all in fur, fairly dripping with blood.

"We're a cruelty-free house!" I proclaimed with such heat
He was startled and tripped on the logs at his feet.

He stood back up dazed, but with mirth in his eyes.
It was then that I noticed his unhealthy size.

He was almost as wide as when standing erect,
A lover of fatty fried foods, I suspect.

But that wasn't all to make sane persuns choke:
In his teeth sat a pipe that was belching out smoke!

I could scarcely believe what invaded our house.
This carcinogenic and overweight louse

Was so red in the face from his energy spent,
I expected a heart attack right there and then.

Behind him he toted a red velvet bag
Full to exploding with sinister swag.

He asked, "Where is your tree?" with a face somewhat long.
I said, "Out in the yard, which is where it belongs."

"But where will I put all the presents I've brought?"
I looked at him squarely and said, "Take the lot

To some frivolous people who think that they need
To succumb to the sickness of commerce and greed,

"Whose only joy comes from the act of consuming,
Thus sending the stock of the retailers booming."

He blinked and said, "Ho, ho, ho! But you're kidding."
I gave him a stare that was stern and forbidding.

"Surely the children need something with which to have fun?
It's like childhood's over before it's begun."

He looked in my eyes for some sign of assent,
But I strengthened my will and refused to relent.

"They have plenty of fun," I cut to the gist,
"And your mindless distractions have never been missed.

They take CPR so that they can save lives,
And go door-to-door for the used clothing drives.

"They recycle, renew, reuse -- and reveal
For saving the planet a laudable zeal.

When they padlock themselves to a fence to protest
Against nuclear power, we think they're the best."

He said, "But they're children -- lo, when do they play?"
I countered, "Is that why you've driven your sleigh,

To bring joy to the hearts of each child and tot?
All right, open your bag; let's see what you've got."

He sheepishly did as I'd asked and behold!
A Malibu Barbie in a skirt made of gold.

"You think that my girls will like playing with this,
An icon of sexist, consumerist kitsch?

"With it's unnatural and airheaded grin,
This trollop makes every girl yearn to be thin,

And take up fad diets and binging and purging
Instead of respecting her own body's urging

"To welcome the shape that her body has found
And rejoice to be lanky, short, skinny, or round."

Deep in his satchel he searched for a toy,
Saying, "This is a hit with most little boys."

And what did he put in my trembling hand
But a gun from the BrainBlasters Power Command!

"It's a 'hit,' to be sure," I sneered in his face,
"And a plague to infect the whole human race!

"How 'bout grenades or some working bazookas
To turn all of our kids into half-wit palookas?"

I seized on his bag just to see for myself
The filth being spread by this odious elf.

An Easy-Bake Oven -- ah, goddess, what perfidy!
To hoodwink young girls into household captivity!

Plus an archery play set with shafts that fly out,
The very thing needed to put your eye out.

And toy metal tractors, steam shovels, and cranes
For tearing down woodlands and scarring the plains,

Plus "games" like Monopoly, Pay Day, Tycoon,
As if lessons in greed can't start up too soon.

And even more weapons from BrainBlasters Co.,
Like cannons and nunchucks and ray guns that glow.

That's all I could find in his red velvet sack --
Perverseness and mayhem to set us all back.

(But I did find one book that caused me to ponder --
Some fine bedtime tales by a fellow named Garner.)

"We need none of this," I announced in a huff,
"No 'business-as-usual' holiday stuff.

"We sow in our offspring more virtue than this.
Your 'toys' offer some things they never will miss."

The big man's expression was a trifle bereaved
As he shouldered his pack and got ready to leave.

"I pity the kids who grow up around here,
Who're never permitted to be of good cheer,

Who aren't allowed leisure for leisure's own sake,
But must fret every minute -- it makes my heart break!"

"Enough histrionics! Don't pity our kids
If they don't do as Macy's or Toys 'R' Us bids.

They live by their principles first and foremost
And know what's important," to him did I boast.

"Pray, could I meet them?" "Oh no, they're not here.
They're up on the roof, liberating your deer!"

Then Santa Claus sputtered and pointed his finger
But, mad as he was, he had no time to linger.

He flew up the chimney like smoke from a fire,
And up on the roof I heard voices get higher.

I ran outside the co-op to see him react
To my children's responsible, kindhearted act.

He chased them away, and disheartened, dismayed,
He rehitched his reindeer (who'd docilely stayed).

I watched with delight as he scooted off then.
He'd be too embarrassed to come back again.

But with parting disdain, do you know what he said,
When this overweight huckster took off in his sled?

This reindeer enslaver, this exploiter of elves?
"Happy Christmas to all, but get over yourselves!!"

from "Politically Correct Holiday Stories" by James Finn Garner
Macmillan, 1995

Subject: Bronx Christmas

The night before Christmas...... (An ex-Nutworks twisted tale)

'Twas the night before Christmas, an all through the block,
Not a creature was stirring, not even Ed Kotch.
The stockings were hung, by the furnace with care.
In hopes that by morning, they'd all still be there.

Me an this skank, were just getting ready for bed.
I wore pajamas, she had a paper bag for her head.
When up on the roof, I heard a big crash,
I thought it was a burglar, I was gonna kick ass!

I went out on the fire escape, looked up in the sky,
An what did I see, but this freakin fat guy!
With a red suit and boots, that came up to his knees,
In the moonlight he looked, just like Dom DeLouise.

He had a big sled, being pulled by reindeer.
He called one of them Dancer, so I assumed he was queer.
As he crept off the roof, it became clear to me,
That this guy was lookin, to steal my TV!

Over his shoulder, he had a big sack.
He came down the stairs, while I planned my attack.
I waited a second, till the time it seemed ripe.
Bopped him on the head, * botta bing * with a pipe!

He fell to the floor, with a groan and a thud.
I was kinda surprised, that I didn't see blood.
Instead he rolled over, looked me in the eye.
When I saw who I'd hit, I near started to cry.

I said "Hey 'yo Santa, I'm sorry all right?"
"Not for nuttin" he said, "but this just ain't my night!"
"I got lost in the Bronx, ran over some Nuns."
"Had a near miss by Kennedy, Rudolf's got the runs..."

"I'm out all freakin night, I'm bustin my hump."
"But I can't finish now, not with this lump!"
"So do me a favor, and be a real pal."
"Take over for me...be Santa Sal."

I say 'Yo! I'm from Brooklyn, I ain't right for the part.
But he says that Santa Claus, comes from the heart.
He made me a offer, I couldn't refuse.
Stop at every house....except for the Jews!

I got into the suit, jumped onto the sleigh,
Wondering just why it was, reindeer smelled that way.
Took off on my mission, didn't want to be late.
While old Nick spent the night, hosin' my date.

That night I was Santa, bringing kids joy and bliss.
And if you don't believe that...hey, jingle dis!
Since then I been with him, each year in the cold.
Riding shotgun with Santa, 'cause he's fat, and he's old.

I'm his number one helper, I been deputized.
So on this Christmas Eve, don't you be surprised.
If you hear a voice say, real loud and abrupt.
"Merry Christmas to all, thanks alot...eh - shutup!"

Subject: Computer Christmas

Twas the night before crisis,
And all through the house,
Not a program was working,
Not even a browse.

Programmers were wrung out,
Too mindless to care,
Knowing chances of cutover
Hadn't a prayer.

The users were nestled
All snug in their beds,
While visions of inquiries
Danced in their heads.

When out in the lobby
There arose such a clatter,
That I sprang from my tube
To see what was the matter.

And what to my wondering
Eyes should appear,
But a Super Programmer,
Oblivious to fear.

More rapid than eagles,
His programs they came
And he whistled and shouted
And called them by name.

On Update! On Add!
On Inquiry! On Delete!
On Batch Jobs! On Closing!
On Functions Complete!

His eyes were glazed over,
His fingers were lean,
From weekends and nights
Spent in front of a screen.

A wink of his eye,
And a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know
I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word,
But went straight to his work,
Turning specs into code,
Then he turned with a jerk.

And laying his fingers
Upon the ENTER key,
The system came up,
And worked perfectly!

The updates updated;
The deletes they deleted;
The inquiries inquired;
And the closing completed.

He tested each whistle,
He tested each bell,
With nary an abend,
And all had gone well.

The system was finished,
The tests were concluded,
The client's last changes
Were even included!

And the client exclaimed,
With a snarl and a taunt,
"It's just what I asked for,
But it's not what I want!"

Subject: Another computer Christmas

Twas the night before implementation and all through the house
not a program was working, not even a browse.
The programmers hung by their tubes in despair
with hopes that a miracle soon would be there.
The users were nestled all snug in their beds,
while visions of inquiries danced in their heads.
When out in the machine room there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my desk to see what was the matter.
And what to wondering eyes should appear
but a super programmer (with a six-pack of beer)!
His resume glowed with experience so rare,
he turned out great code with a bit-pusher's flair.
More rapid than eagles his programs they came,
and he cursed and muttered and called them by name:
On Update! On Add! On Inquiry! On Delete!
On Batch Jobs! On Closings! On Functions Complete!
His eyes were glazed over, fingers nimble and lean,
from weekends and nights in front of a screen.
A wink of his eye and a twitch of his head
soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
turning specs into code; then turned with a jerk
And laying his finger upon the "ENTER" key,
the system came up and worked perfectly.
The updates updated; the deletes, they deleted;
the inquiries inquired; the closings completed!
He tested each whistle, and tested each bell
with nary a bomb, and all had gone well.
The system was finished, the tests were concluded,
the users' last changes were even included.
And the user exclaimed with snarl and a taunt,
"It's just what I asked for, but not what I want!"
- Anonymous

Subject: Deliquent Christmas

A Christmas story for the delinquint in all of us.
By Dean Klear

Twas the night before Christmas,
When all through the house,
The whole damn family was as drunk as a louse.

Grandma and Grandpa were singin' a song,
And the kid was in bed, floggin' his dong.

Ma home from the cathouse,
And I out of jail,
We had just settled down for a good piece of tail.

When out on the lawn,
Arose such a clatter,
I sprang off Ma to see what the fuck was a matter.

Away to the window,
I made a mad dash,
Flew open the shutters and fell on my ass.

But what to my bloodshot eyes but appear,
A rusty old sled and a dozen rein deer,
And a little old driver holding his dick,
I knew right away it was that bastard St. Nick.

(Santa)"On dasher, on Blitzen, up over those walls,
"Quickly now, damnit, or I'll cut off your balls."

Upon the roof,
He fondered and fell,
And came right down the chimney like a bat out of hell.

He staggered and stumbled on over to the door,
Tripped over his cock,
And fell on the floor.

And I heard him explain,
As he rode out of sight,
"Piss on you all, It's been a hell of a night."

Subject: Final Christmas

A Final Visit From Saint Nicholas
_________________________________

'Twas the night before Christmas and one thing was clear--
that old Yuletide spirit no longer was here
inflation was rising; the crime rate was tripling;
the fuel bills were up, and our mortgage was crippling;

I opened a beer as I watched TV,
where Donny sang "O Holy Night" to Marie;
the kids were in bed, getting sleep like they should;
or else they were stoned, which was almost as good.

While Ma with her ball-point was making a fuss
'bout folks we'd send cards to who'd sent none to us;
"Those ingrates," she thundered, and pounded her fist;
"Next year you can bet they'll be crossed off our list!"

When out in the yard came a deafening blare;
'twas our burgler alarm, and I hollered, "Who's there?"
I turned on the searchlight, which lit up the night,
and, armed with my handgun, beheld a strange sight.

Some red-suited clown with a white beard immense
was caught in our eight foot electrified fence;
he called out, "I'm Santa! I bring you no malice!"
Said I, "if you're Santa, I'm Telly Savalas!"

But, lo, as his pressence grew clear to me,
I saw in the glare that it just might be he!
called off our doberman clawing his sleigh
and, frisking him twice, said, "I think he's ok."

I led him inside where he slumped in a chair,
and he poured out the following tale of dispair;
"On Christmas eves past I was jolly and chuckling,
but now 'neath the pressures, I fear I am buckling."

"You'll note I've arrived with no reindeer this year,
and without them, my sleigh is much harder to steer;
although I would like to continue to use them,
the wildlife officials believe I abuse them."

"To add to my problem, Ralph Nader dropped by
and told me my sleigh was unsafe in the sky;
I now must wear seatbelts, despite my objections,
and bring in the sleigh twice a year for inspections."

"Last April my workers came forth with demands,
and I soon had a general strike on my hands;
I couldn't afford to pay unionized elves,
so the missus and I did the work ourselves."

"And then, later on, came additional trouble--
an avalanche left my fine workshop in rubble;
my Allstate insurance was worthless, because
they had shrewdly slipped in a 'no avalanche' clause."

"And after that came an I.R.S audit;
the government claimed I was out to defraud it;
they finally nailed me for 65 grand,
which I paid through the sale of my house and my land."

"And yet I persist, though it gives me a scare
flying blind through the blanket of smog in the air;
not to mention the hunters who fill me with dread,
taking shots at my sleigh as I pass overhead."

"My torn-up red suit, and these bruises and swellings,
I got fighting muggers in multiple dwellings.
And if you should ask why I'm glowing tonight,
it's from flying too close to a nuclear site."

He rose from his chair and he heaved a great sigh,
and I couldn't help notice a tear in his eye;
"I've tried," he declared, "to reverse each defeat,
but I fear that today I've become obsolete."

He slumped out the door and returned to his sleigh,
and these last words he spoke as he went on his way;
"no longer can I do the job that's required;
if anyone asks, just say, 'Santa's retired!'".

Subject: Obnoxious Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, everyone felt
shitty, (even the mouse). Mom on the toilet, and Dad smoking grass, I
had just settled down for a nice piece of ass. When out on the roof I
heard such a clatter, I sprang from my piece to see what was the matter.
While up on the roof, I saw some old prick, I knew in a moment it must
be Saint Nick. He came down the chimney like a bat out of Hell. I knew
in a second, the old fucker had fell. He filled all the stockings with
whiskey and beer, and had a big rubber dick for my brother the queer.
He rose up the chimney with a thundering fart. The son of a bitch blew
my chimney apart. He swore and he cursed as he rode out of sight.
"Piss on you all, its been one hell of a night!"

Subject: Programmer's Christmas

T'was the night before implementation
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

T'was the night before implementation
and all through he house,
not a programmer was working, not even a browse.

The programmers hung by their keys in despair,
with hopes that a miracle soon would be there.
The users were nestled, all snug in their beds,
while visions of inquiries danced in their heads.

When out on the spot there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my desk to see what was the matter.
And what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but a super programmer (with a six-pack of beer).

His COBOL it lustered, his WFL it shimmered,
his Pascal and ALGOL, oh how they glimmered.
His resume glowed with experience so rare,
he turned out great code with a bit-pusher's flair.

More rapid then eagles his programs they came,
and he whistled and shouted and called them by name;
On update! On add! On inquiry! On delete!
On batch jobs! On closing! On function complete.

His eyes were glazed over, fingers nimble and lean,
from weekends and nights in front of a screen.
A wind of his eye and a twist of his head,
soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
turning specs into code; then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger upon the "Enter" key,
the system came up and worked perfectly.

The updates updated; the deletes, they deleted;
the inquiries inquired, and closing completed.
He tested each whistle, and he tested each bell
with nary a dump, and all had gone well.

The system was finished, the tests were concluded;
the client's last changes were even included.

Then the client exclaimed with a snarl and a taunt
"It's just hat I asked for, but not what I want!"

- Anonymous

Disclaimer thingy:
(This was in the December 1993, Vol. 4, No 4 issue of PaperNet,
a Calgary UNIX Users' Group (CUUG) Publication)

Subject: Redneck Christmas

A Redneck Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas And all through the trailer
Not a creature was stirrin' 'Cept a redneck named Taylor.
His first name was Bubba, Joe was his middle,
And a-runnin' down his chin Was a trickle of spittle.
His socks, they were hung by the chimney with care,
And therefore there was a foul stench in the air.

That Bubba got scared And rousted the boys.
There was Rufus, 12; Jim Bob was 11;
Dud goin' on 10; Otis was 7.
John, George and Chucky Were 5,4, and 3:
The twins were both girls So they let them be.

They jumped in their overalls, No need for a shirt,
Threw a hat on each head, Then turned with a jerk.
They ran to the gun rack That hung on the wall.
There were 17 shotguns; They grabbed them all.

Bubba said to the young'uns, "Now hesh up ya'll!
The last thing we wanna do Is wake up yer Maw."
Maw was expecting And needed her sleep,
So out they crept out the door Without making a peep.

They all looked around, and then they all spit.
The young'uns asked Bubba, "Paw, what is it?"
Bubba just stared; He could not say a word.
This was just like all of The stories he'd heard.

It was Santy Claus on the roof, Darn tootin'
But the boys didn't know; They was about to start shootin'!
They aimed their shotguns and nearly made a mistake
That would have resulted in venison steak.
Bubba hollered out, "Don't shoot, boys!"
That's Santy Claus And he's brought us some toys.

The dogs were a-barkin' And a-raisin' cain,
And Bubba whistled, and shouted, And called them by name.
"Down, Spot! Shut up Bullet! Quiet, Pete and Roscoe!
Git, Turnip and Tater and Sam and Bosco!"

"Git down from that porch! Git down off that wall!
Quit shakin the trailer, Or you'll make Santy fall!"
The dogs kept a-barkin' And wouldn't shut up,
And they trampled poor Pete Who was only a pup.

Santy opened his bag, And threw out some toys.
Bubba got most, But left a few for the boys.
Since the guns had been dropped He just might not die.

He jumped in his sleigh, Told his reindeer to hurry.
The trailer started to wobble Santa started to worry.
Just as the reindeer Got into the air,
The trailer collapsed, But Bubba didn't care.

He was busy lookin' At all his new toys.
Then a thought hit him, And he said to the boys:
"Go check on yer Maw, Make sure she's all right.
That roof fallin' on her Could-a hurt just a might."

But Maw was OK, And the girls were too.
They fixed up the trailer; It looked good as new.
And as for Bubba, He liked Old St. Nick,
But Santa thought Bubba Was a pure-in-tee hick!

Bubba had a nice Christmas, And the boys did, too.
And the Taylors wish A Merry Christmas to you!

Subject: Obnoxious Christmas (another version)

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, everyone was
getting laid, even the mouse. With Ma in her whore house and dad in jail, I
had just settled down for a nice piece of tail...When out on the lawn, there
rose such a clatter, I sprang from my sister-in-law to see what was the
matter. I threw open the shudders and threw out the hash, triped over my
boner and busted my ass. And out on the lawn but what should appear but a
rusty ol' sleigh, and 8 fucking reindeer. Out of the sleigh jumped a big, fat
dick...and I knew in an instant it must be St. Prick. "To the top of the
roofs, to the top of the walls, on you bastards before I cut off your balls!"

He came down the chimney like a bat outta Hell, and I knew for a fact the poor
fucker had fell. He filled the stockings with pretzels and beer, and a big
rubber dick for my brother the queer. Then he rose up the chimney with a
thunderous fart, that son of a bitch, he blew the damn thing apart!

And he cursed and he swore as he rode out of sight, "Fuck you all, I've had
one hell of a night!"

Subject: Alcohol Christmas

Epic of Santa

(author unknown)

'Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house,
There were bottles and butts left around by some louse.
And the best fifth I'd hidden by the chimney with care
Had been snatched by some bum who had found it right there.
My pals: guys and gals had been poured into their beds
To wake in the morning with hungover heads.
My mouth, full of cotton, dropped down with a snap
Because I was dying for one wee nightcap.

When through the south window there came such a yell,
I sprang to my feet to see what the hell...
And what to my bloodshot eyes should I see
But eight drunken reindeer caught in a tree.
Way in 'mongst the branches was a man in a sleigh.
I saw it was Santa, quite oiled and tres gay.
Staggering nearer those eight reindeer came
As he burped and hiccupped and called them by name:

"On Whiskey, on Vodka, we ain't got all night!
You too, Gin and Brandy, now all do it right.
Clammer up to the roof; get the hell off this wall!
Get going you rummies, we've still a long haul!"
So up on the roof went the reindeer and sleigh,
But a tree branch hit Santa before he could sway
And then to my ears, like the roll of a barrel,
Came a hell of a noise that was no Christmas carol.

So I pulled in my head and cocked a sharp ear.
Down the chimney he plunged, landing smack on his rear.
He was dressed all in red, with white fur for a trim.
And the way Santa swayed, he was tanked to the brim.
The sack on his back held nothing but booze,
And the breath that he blew nearly put me to snooze.
He was both plump and chubby and tried to stand right.
But he didn't fool me; he was high as a kite.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
And missed half the stockings, the plastered old jerk.
And laying his thumb on the end of his nose,
He fluttered his fingers as he quoted prose.
He sprang for his sleigh at so hasty a pace
He tripped on a shingle and slid on his face.
But I heard him burp back as he passed out of sight:
"Merry Christmas, you lushes, now really get tight."

(Taken from a Christmas card and memorized in 1979.)

John Thornton

Subject: Another Delinquent Christmas