Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, just that stinkin’ mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
So I wore my wife’s pantyhose, hell, she didn’t care.
The cats were all nestled all snug in their cat beds,
And my companion in her muu- muu, and I in my thermal shorts,
Had just cracked open a bottle for a few well deserved snorts.
When out in the driveway, there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my chair to see what the heck was the matter.
Away from the window I flew like a flash,
Rolled up the blinds and tripped over a cat.
The moon on my truck reflected a new fallen snow,
More shoveling I thought, boy this sure blows.
When, what to my bloodshot eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.
With some old guy driving, so lively and quick,
More rapid than a Dodge Ram Hemi, his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted and called them a few names.
“Now Flasher! now, Pole Dancer! now, Pouncer and, (heh heh) Vixen!
On Vomit! (oops, too much whiskey) On, Stupid! on, Donner (Trump) and Wolf Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! And don’t freakin’ fall!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
(who talks like that anyhow?)
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With a sleigh full of toys, and that old guy too.
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
As I drew in my bald head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney he came, hit the floor, and bounced all around.
He was dressed in all denim, from his head to his socks,
A bundle of toys he held closed with one thumb,
He looked like a burglar, geez, should I call nine one one?
His eyes how they squinted, his dimples, how tacky,
His cheeks were like crimson, his nose kinda wacky.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
The stump of a pipe, (smoking weed type) he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled, my cats like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, overweight like myself.
A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know, there’d be coal in my stocking, for forgetting to make the bed.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then called me a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
He knew I was Italian by the size of “MY” nose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, except Misfit, and a merry goodnight.”
(my apologies to Clement Clarke Moore)
Now where the hell is that stinkin’ mouse?
Copyright 2010, 2011, 2012 MisfitWisdom RLV…….. Ho Ho Ho