Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the house
Not a creature was stirring...
...well, besides Rosita pooping in the living room and Bandido biting Rosita's head and the wife throwing up her arms in defeat...
The stockings were hung
by the chimney with care
which is a hell of a lot better than socks running away from the hamper or shoe-carrying dogs flying past or me not putting my socks away or me wearing my shoes in the house.
If we had children, they'd be snuggled in their beds
with visions of sugar plums.....
sugar plums....
...certainly not sugar plums dancing in their heads.
I mean, what the hell is a sugar plum? Do they dance? Do kids dream about sugar plums, let alone dancing sugar plums? Do kids dream of anything besides video games and social media? Do sugar plums have a Twitter account? Is there a dancing sugar plum story on SnapChat?
When out on the lawn
There arose such a clatter
Bandido jumped on the ottoman and scratched the leather and barked at the blinds she ruined a few months ago
to see what was the matter
When what to my wondering eyes did appear
Not a miniature sleigh
but the neighbor dog pooping on our lawn--
Not eight tiny reindeer poop. Dog poop.
PICK UP THAT POOP, DAMMIT!
It's a holiday, for Pete's sake. Get your six feet off our lawn. That ain't no Saint Nick.
POOP.ON.YOUR.OWN.LAWN!
As I drew from the window
and then turned around
I heard Ol' Saint Nick give a big sound
Swearing and screaming as he plummeted through the chimney,
splattering into the fireplace, covered with 22 years of soot in a chimney that we've never had cleaned. Man, did that make a mess. The wife was SOOOO not pleased. Soot all over the rug. Lots of soot. Black soot.
He was fat. Sooty. Coughing. Smoking.
What the hell, Santa? Put that pipe out. We don't smoke in the house. Those reindeer better not be pooping on the roof. Don't make me go out there. Don't you be winking at me. Bowl full of jelly? How about calling it fat? It's fat. You're a fat elf. Don't just stand there, speechless. Do something. Get your finger off you nose and spread some friggin' Christmas cheer.
He spoke not a work
but went straight to his work
And, yeah--he filled all the stockings....
....and he called me a jerk.
He went out the front door. Didn't even take his muddy, sooty boots off as he crossed the carpet. He was muttering to Dasher. Dancer. Prancer--and Vixen. Seriously. He was muttering to a deer names Vixen. That's what you named your deer? Vixen? That's a pissed-off female who's got your number. You named your deer after a hateful hussy? Does Mrs. Claus know about this? Oh god, it's not her that's the vixen, is it?
He plopped his sorry ass in his sleigh
to his team gave a whistle
That got Bandido all fired up and she was barking and howling and scratching at the door, which got Rosita all wound up and she started barking and crying and jumping on the furniture....
...but, at least the neighbor had picked up the poop. Good job, neighbor. Good job.
As the red-clothed bearded guy took off in flight
I heard him yell "Merry Christmas to the Addiverse
and to all a good night."
For the record, there was nothing but coal in my stocking.
Hmmmm.... a sack of coal seems a whole lot better than pee on the rug or poop on the wood floor or wet shoes on the carpet or some fat guy pipe-smoking in our living room. Way better.
Merry Christmas to all and to all.... a safe, belly-busting, gleeful, sugar-plum-filled night.
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