Twas the night before Christmas, when all through our pad,
Every creature was stirring, being exceptionally bad.
The stockings were hung too close to the floor,
And demon dog was eating each one that he tore.
The twins were bouncing off the walls in their rooms,
Just thinking about making their new Mario Kart zoom.
Hubby in holey boxers and I in my nightie,
Had just poured a third glass of wine that was mighty.
When out on the roof came a crazy loud thump;
I told Hubby to check it out and to get off his rump.
He mumbled something about Sportscenter and checking a score,
So away to the window I frustratingly tore.
The moon shined bright on the freshly packed snow;
The dog poop had been covered, I could see in the glow.
When what to my intoxicated eyes should appear,
But a big ass sleigh and eight smelly reindeer.
A festively plump driver who was anything but quick,
Was a loud and clear signal that this was St. Nick.
Slower than molasses, his antlered slaves came,
And he bitched and he moaned and he called them by name:
“Damnit Dasher! Damnit Dancer!
Damnit Prancer and Vixen!
S.O.B. Comet! S.O.B. Cupid!
S.O.B. Donner and Blitzen!
Get your asses up here
And you better make it snappy!
Do I look like I’m kidding?
Do I look like your Pappy?”
As a football team likes to huddle pre-game,
They banded together and argued about fame.
Then up to the roof-top those crazy deer flew,
With that shit-ton of toys and St. Nicholas too.
I wanted to scream as they stomped on our roof,
Just imagine all the damage from those damn reindeer hooves.
I pounded my fists and tried counting to ten,
But St. Nick squeezed his ass down the chimney just then.
He was huffing and puffing from the hot fur of his suit,
And it smelled like he’d stepped in some poop with his boot.
A backpack of toys really weighed down his rear,
And he looked like he could use a really cold beer.
His eyes – how they drooped. His unibrow, how scary!
And with the hair on his lip, he looked like Aunt Mary.
The scowl on his mouth said he would sure like to quit,
And you could tell that he really was just sick of this shit.
When he pulled out that pipe and started to smoke,
Well, I wanted to grab his fat neck and just choke.
He had pink chubby cheeks and a rounded booze belly,
That rumbled around like a HUGE vat of jelly.
He was an overweight mess, this tired old dude,
How did Mrs. Claus stand his bad attitude?
He flipped me off and told me to get lost,
He was in a huge hurry and might have been sauced.
He didn’t say much more as he got down to biz,
Shoving crap in our stockings and even taking a whiz.
Then burping three times and doing a jig,
He rose up the chimney with a beer and a swig.
He hopped in his ride and called to his posse,
And away they all flew with their bearded old bossy.
But I heard him exclaim just before out of reach,
“Happy Christmas assholes! I’m hittin’ the beach!”
MAY ALL YOUR HOLIDAYS BE HAPPY & FULL OF GOOD DRINKS! CHEERS!