‘Twas the Rewrite Before Christmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

All the seniors were stirring, and played with their mouse;

The cookies were laid as a late, midnight snack

In hopes that Ol’ Santy’d stop by for a chat;

The children were restless, and surfed on the net

While babbling senselessly about what they would get;

And mamma in her hairnet, me in my toupee

Decided bygones be bygones, and let the kids play;

When out on the lawn I heard such a noise

‘Damn our Neighbors and their New Toys!’;

I slipped out of bed, and stepped on the cat,

Tired and angry, I grabbed my best bat;

And what to my burning eyes should appear

But a stretched SUV with a bag in the rear!

And the fat little driver, large and quite slow

Hopped out of the seat and stubbed his big toe;

More rapid than eagles his curses they came

He starred down his helpers and called them all names;

“Now, Dumb-shit! Now, Bastard! Now, Jackass and Vermin!

On, Vomit! On, Pansy! On, Loser and Worm-head!

You better have fun, you better enjoy it!

‘Cause you know that we’re facing a lack of employment!”

Up to the rooftop in search of a flue

There wasn’t a chimney, was nothing to do;

Back down the ivy, he slid with a curse

Hopped in the truck, threw the thing in reverse;

On the gas he did push, up the steps it did fly

On the porch it did stop in the wink of an eye;

He knocked on the door, it fell with a thud

In he sauntered all covered in mud;

He was dressed in faux-fur from his head to his flops

His jacket was leather, his swim trunks had spots;

A bundle of junk he held on his back

He looked like a plumber showing off his new crack;

His eyes how they crossed, his dimples how scary

His cheeks were like roses – he looked like Drew Carey!

His botox lips were drawn like a bow

The goatee on his chin was as white as the snow;

The smoke from his pipe went up like a wreath

And the tobacco his used had coated his teeth;

Upon his entrance, we came down the stair

He eyed us remotely, without much of a care;

Mamma was angry, that’s to be sure

The door off its hinges, and mud on the floor;

“I’ll fix that,” he mumbled, and went straight to work

He laid out the presents, then turned with a smirk;

He made a mad dash for the hole in the wall

Never looked back, nor answered our call;

He never did fix that stupid, dumb door

It’s just as he left it, still on the floor;

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight:

“Get your asses in bed! And you better sleep tight!”

Rif on the original poem ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas by Clement Clarke Moore