Not a creature was stirring, not even Uncle Ernie, sitting in the corner completely soused;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
While Aunt Iny ran screaming from a gift of Victoria Secret underwear;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of iPhone 6s danced in their heads;
And mamma in her teddy, laying in my lap,
purred like a kitten taking a long winter’s nap,
When out on my lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed & called the cops as if it mattered.
Away to the window, I flew like the CW’s Flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the bad sushi that Kabuki had trashed.
The moons from the nearby sorority on the new-fallen snow,
Gave a luster of a Hollywood premiere to the 101 traffic jam below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a big-old sleigh and eight flying reindeer,
With a little old driver so lively and quick,
I knew my medical marijuana must have kicked in quick.
More rapid than eagles his foul-smelling beasts came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on the Donner Expedition!
To the top of the world! To the top of the Great Wall!
Now fly away! fly away! fly away all!”
So up to my house-top the coursers they flew
With the sleigh full of coal, and illegal immigrant St. Nicholas too—
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
Santa crying from a sore aching tooth.
I did three quick tequila shots, and then turned around,
As down the chimney came St. Nicholas with a bound.
Dressed all in faux fur, from his head to his foot,
His clothes all flashy, like a pimp at a magazine photo shoot;
A bundle of toys lay on his back,
And he looked like an employee from Macy’s, who just got sacked.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
(Likely cause he’d been drinking steadily since last February),
His chin beard glowed as white as the snow;
While pipe smoke encircled his head like a heavenly halo,
originating from a substance the narcs called blow;
He had a broad face and a round little belly
That shook when he laughed, like the Kardashians wrestling in a tub full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a weight watchers poster self,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon let me know, I had just encountered AMC’s living dead;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
ripping off the presents & stockings; just like a typical high school jerk,
Then laying his finger inside of his nose,
he mined out a booger as big as his toe;
He ran back to his sleigh, as quick as sand,
And flew away before the police could slap cuffs on his hands.
But I heard him exclaim before he flew out of sight—
“Put Santa Clause 2 in the DVD tonight!”
* * *
Richard Allan Jones is the author of the comedy-adventure, “Drafted,” available at amazon.com.