'Twis the night before Christmas

or Account of a Visit from St. Nicholas
Apologies to Clement Clarke Moore

 

'Twis the night before Christmas, and all through the town

Not a creature was stirring, not even a hound

The web pages were all linked in the server with care

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would browse there.

 

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of Pokémon danced in their heads,

Penny in her recliner, and I on the floor,

Had just settled down to watch RAW IS WAR,

 

When out in the courtyard there arose such a clatter

I sprang from the floor to see what the matter.

Away to the window I flew with a flash,

Tripped on the rug and fell with a crash.

 

The stars in my head were like new-fallen snow

Giving an aura to the objects below,

When, what to my wondering eyes as they cleared

Was a monster truck, and eight gigantic reindeer,

 

With a little old driver, tattooed and so quick,

I knew without asking it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than Harleys his reindeer did come,

As Rap, from his windows, loudly did thrum;

 

He was dressed in fur from his head to his foot

Those little mink heads, how they rattled and shook

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back

That he gave out to kids who had left him a snack.

 

That's when he made his fatal mistake

Parking his sleigh in Penny Thrifft's place.

She's one landlord who won't take no guff

From a fat old man with a big load of stuff.

 

So when he returned from filling stockings with care

He found that his sleigh-ride just wasn't there

Where's Dancer? and Prancer? and Donder? and Blitzen?

Or Comet? or Cupid? or Dasher? and Vixxxen?

 

Then he waddled from the porch and stopped at the wall

"Now dang blang it! Dang blang it! Dang blang it blang all!"

For it was easy to see that his ride was a missin';

Towed by the fuzz for parking without permission.

 

Justice was swift, nobody was bored

In the case of Claus versus Penny Thrifft, landlord

The lawyers, they talked, the jury did listen

But they had no compassion for Santa's position.

 

The letters they came by the sack to the editor

Saying the fat old man should have known better

Than to park in a place he didn't belong

For to loiter in public surely is wrong.

 

One said that justice, it should prevail,

It serves him right to sit in the jail

Under a bright light with a strong white glare

While Drago the dog sniffs through his wares.

 

Too bad kids throughout the world went without

It was all Santa's fault, of that there is no doubt

To park where not wanted, the penalty is stiff

Just ask the good landlord, the one they call Thrifft.

 

My editor, she says, "I don't give a fug*

For a Christmas story that ends in the jug!"

So I guess I should say, ere I go out of sight,

"HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!"

 

*Fug: A malodorous emanation.—Webster's II New Riverside University Dictionary

Alternate Ending (In case you don't like the word fug.)

 

My editor she says, "I don't give a malodorous emanation

For a Christmas story that ends at the po-lice station!"

So I guess I should say, ere I go out of sight,

"HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!"

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