Thread: Twas the Night Before Christmas ... Collection

Merry Christmas To My Female Friends


If I were ol' Santa, you know what I'd do
I'd dump silly gifts that are given to you
And deliver some things just inside your front door
Things you have lost, but treasured before.

I'd give you back all your maidenly vigor,
And to go along with it, a neat tiny figure.
Then restore the old color that once graced your hair
Before rinses and bleaches took residence there.

I'd bring back the shape with which you were gifted
So things now suspended need not be uplifted.
I'd draw in your tummy and smooth down your back
Till you'd be a dream in those tight fitting slacks.

I'd remove all your wrinkles and leave only one chin
So you wouldn't spend hours rubbing grease on your skin
You'd never have flashes or queer dizzy spells
And you wouldn't hear noises like ringing of bells.

No sore aching feet and no corns on your toes
No searching for spectacles when they're right on your nose.
Not a shot would you take in your arm, hip or fanny
From a doctor who thinks you're a nervous old granny.

You'd never have a headache, so no pills would you take.
And no heating pad needed since your muscles won't ache.
Yes, if I were Santa, you'd never look stupid
You'd be a cute little chick with the romance of a cupid.

I'd give a lift to your heart when those wolves start to whistle
And the joys of your heart would be light as a thistle.
But alas! I'm not Santa. I'm simply just me
The matronest of matrons you ever did see.

I wish I could tell you all the symptoms I've got
But I'm due at my doctor's for an estrogen shot.
Even though we've grown older this wish is sincere
Merry Christmas to you and a Happy New Year.

A Drunk's Night Before Christmas


'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,
There were bottles of booze left around by some louse.
When through the North window there came a loud yell
I sprang to my feet to see what the hell...

And what to my bloodshot eyes should I see,
But eight drunken reindeer caught up in a tree.
And there in the branches, was a man with a sleigh.
I knew it was Santa, quite tiddley and gay.

Staggering nearer those eight reindeer came,
While he belched and hiccoughed and called them by name
"On Whiskey! On Vodka! we ain't got all night,
You too, Gin and Brandy, now all do it right!

Clamber up on the roof, and get off this wall,
Get going you rummies, we've still got a long haul!"
So up on the roof went the reindeer and sleigh,
But a tree branch hit Santa before he could sway.

And then to my ears like the roll of a barrel,
A hell of a noise that was no Christmas carol.
So I pulled in my head and I cocked a sharp ear,
Down the chimney he plunged, landing smack on his rear.

He was both plump and chubby, and tried to stand right,
But he didn't fool me, he was high as a kite.
He spoke not a word but went straight to work
And missed half the stockings, the drunken old jerk.

Then putting his thumb to the end of his nose,
He fluttered his fingers as he quoted prose.
As he sprung for his sleigh at so hasty a pace,
He tripped on a shingle and he slid on his face.

But I heard him call back as he passed out of sight,
"Merry Christmas, you lushes, now really get tight!"

'Twas the Nite Before Implementation


'Twas the nite before implementation and all through the house,
Not a program was working, not even a browse.

The programmers hung by their tubes in despair,
With hopes that a miracle soon would be there.

The users were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of inquiries danced in their heads.

When out in the machine room there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my desk to see what was the matter.

And what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a super programmer ( with a six-pack of root beer ).

Her resume glowed with experience so rare,
She turned out great code with a bit-pusher's flair.

More rapid than eagles, her programs they came,
And she cursed and muttered and called them by name.

On Update! On Add! On Inquiry! On Delete!
On Batch Jobs! On Closings! On Functions Complete!

Her eyes were glazed over, fingers nimble and lean,
From weekends and nites in front of a screen.

A wink of her eye and a twitch of her head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

She spoke not a word, but went straight to her work,
Turning specs into code; then turned with a jerk.

And laying her finger upon the "ENTER" key,
The system came up and worked perfectly.

The updates updated; the deletes, they deleted;
The inquiries inquired, and closings completed.

She tested each whistle, and tested each bell,
With nary a bomb, and all had gone well.

The system was finished, the tests were concluded,
The users' last changes were even included.

And the user exclaimed with a snarl and a taunt,
"It's just what I asked for, but not what I want!"

[b]A Cowboy's Night Before Christmas[b]
by David Kelley


'Twas just before Santy came,
the story is told.
Cattle weren't stirrin', fact they's
bunched against the cold.

The tack was hung near the
chuckwagon with care.
Why, we didn't know Santy was
close anywhere.

Cowboys on the ground were
wishin' for their beds
While nightmares of wild steers
ran through their heads.

'Tween now and the next gather,
we needed a nap.
Cookie had just finished, and
tied down the flap.

When out past the cavvy, there
rose such a fuss,
I sprang to my feet, leavin'
the bedroll a muss,

And grabbin' my shotgun and my
ragged ol' hat
I run t'ward the racket thinkin'
"...what'n thunder's that?"

When thoughts of amazement
through my head courses,
It was a buckboard teamed up
with draft horses,

A driver in red buckskins, so
spry and dainty,
I know'd in an instant, it
must be ol' Santy.

Quicker than jackrabbits, them
horses they came,
And, he's shoutin' commands to
each one by name...

"Get a step, Joe!. One more, Prince!.
On, Big Ed!
Pick it up, Sam! Tighten up, Lou!
On, Old Ned!

Don't spook the cavvy, back away
from them pens,
You're a pullin' this wagon like a
bunch of ol' hens!

Now, when I haul on these lines
I mean to stop.
Hold up in this cow-camp like a
ton of cow flop!"

They sat down in their riggin',
like I knew they would,
With a wagon of goodies ... made
of leather and wood.

Then, in a twinklin'
with no further delay,
He said, "Back it up, boys, this
here ain't no sleigh".

I couldn't believe my ears,
and lookin' around,
Off that wagon ol' Santy came
with a bound.

He was short, and his chinks
reached near to his toes.
He was happy and fat, with
a little red nose.

There was a ton of packages
and some new tack,
And, ol' Santy was carryin' it
all on his back.

His eyes sort of bloodshot,
much like a cherry,
From 'rastlin' them horses
clean across the prairie.

His lips was plumb puckered,
his mouth drawn and droll,
(Mine got that way, the day I
swallered my Skoal.)

He was holdin' a piggin' string
tight in his teeth,
Not fer' tie down, but for tyin'
'up' a fine wreath.

His head was too big and he
had a round belly,
No doubt derived from eatin'
Texas Chili.

He's chubby and plump all right,
I'd say quite jolly.
I laughed plumb out loud when
I seen him, by golly.

He winked his bloodshot eye,
and spat 'tween his lips,
And, it made me to know we
were all in the chips.

He weren't much for chatter,
just done what was due,
Givin' presents and goodies
to the whole durn crew.

Then, he stuck his finger in
his wee little ear,
Wallered it around and said,
"We're through bein' here".

He fled to the wagon, and his
team called 'em up,
"Come on you swaybacks ... what's
the dad-burn holdup?

We won't be back till next year
'cause we're flat broke.
Merry Christmas, my eye,
I just busted a spoke!"

The Night Before Christmas at M' Home on the Range

Twere nigh onto Christmas, an' all 'round m' cabin

Ya c'd hear cactus grow — warn't a coyote gabbin'.

M' long-johns was propped on a stick by the fire

In hopes that, come mornin', they'd be warmer an' drier.

The heifers were dreamin', outside on m' lands,

Nightmares 'bout me milkin' with cold mornin' hands.

M' horse slept indoors, an' the cabin smelled rank. It

Were so cold outside, me an' him shared the blanket!

When above, on the shakes, I heard hoof-beats skedaddle.

I unholstered m' guns — somethin's scarin' the cattle! —

Threw open the door, stood out on the porch

Barefoot, buck-naked — jes' m' gun an' a torch.

The moonbeams that marched 'crost m' spread single-file

Showed the snow was unbroken fer mile after mile.

"Some ruckus," I shrugged. "Jes' the wind in the sage" —

When 'crost the night sky comes the overland stage!

(Well, m' seein's no good — ain't no cause to lodge pity —

Lost m' specs playin' blackjack in Dodge City.)

Overhead the stage twirled like a big wagon wheel,

An' I reckon I felt like a buzzard's next meal.

My eyeballs improvin' as each swoop it nears,

I c'd see the stage pulled by some strange-lookin' steers!

They ambushed m' ranch like a hound'll rout grouse —

Tore a wall off the barn, an' knocked down the outhouse!

Like a tumbleweed skitters which way the wind blows,

Them varmints was loco (an' believe me, I knows!).

An' then, from above me, I heard m' roof groan,

An' I figgered m' ceilin' would drop like a stone.

I yelled m'self raw, over jangles and jingles:

"Git that stage off m' roof! Git them steers off m' shingles!"

When, from somewheres behind me, I hears some galoot

Crack out "Pipe down, son!" as the room filled with soot!

He'd clumb down m' chimney, this greenhorn so rude,

An' one look at his rig said it all: "He's a dude!"

His face was all whiskers — in a bag was his gear —

His red suit must mean he was huntin' fer deer.

He looked so danged silly, I guffawed through an' through,

But I stopped when he said, "Son, yer skin's turnin' blue."

I'll admit it looked strange — didn't take much more proof

Than me standin' buck-naked, eight steers on m' roof.

"M' brain must've friz up clean through to the marrow.

'Scuse m' bad manners, sir," an' I doffed m' sombrero.

I asks, "Where ya from, Gramps?" an' the dude says, "Up north."

(Guess them Montana folks don't care how they go forth!)

"I'll be drivin' all night," he said, "last light t' first.

"It's hard on ol' codgers — but on reindeers it's worst.

"So I'm askin' a favor, an' I hopes you agrees:

"Lemme borry eight longhorns t'night, if ya please."

"Ya got grit, dude," says I, as my six-guns I cock,

"Bustin' up m' home spread, an' now rustlin' m' stock."

"That's all been repaired," said he, scratchin' his nose.

With a last "Much obliged!" up m' chimney he goes.

I were seein' dang good then as I recollects;

That greenhorn done gimme a new pair o' specs!

I looks out, an' sees a new barn in the fog;

In m' new privy sits a fresh Sears catalog!

But I still was uneasy — them longhorns was prime,

An' fer reindeers I couldn't git nary a dime.

"I'll be back afore dawn," says he, slappin' the traces,

An' next thing I knowed, they whooshed over the mesas!

But I heard him shout out, as his stage cleared the moon:

"Happy trails t' ya, cowboy, 'til we meet again soon!"

Eat The Last Piece Of Fruitcake



If you received a fruitcake for Christmas, share it with all your friends today, National Fruitcake Day (Dec 27). Make sure everyone gets a piece.

Also known as Fruitcake Forever Day.


Sung to Last Train to Clarksville (Monkees) and Modified by Chef Frank

Eat the last piece of fruitcake
that we got from Auntie Mabel
We can't keep it in the kitchen
'cause it broke right through the table
and the floor
Oh no no no
Oh no no no
"Cause your father lost a filling
and your sister broke a cap
And I lost a half a filling,
the rest is on a string tied to the door
Oh no no no
Oh no no no
And I don't think I can chew gum anymore
Eat the last piece of fruitcake
that came via forklift
Or use it for a doorstop
Might as well get some good use out of this gift.
Oh no no no
Oh no no no
Hohohohohohohoho
Hohohohohohohoho
Hohohohohohohohoho
Hohohohohohohoho
Hohohohohohohoho
Hohohohohohohohoho
Eat the last piece of fruitcake
That we have in our home
I don't know how old it is
But I bet that it was baked by Wilma Flintstone
Oh no no no
Oh no no no
And I don't think that I like her anymore.

Congress' Night Before Christmas



"Twas the week before Christmas and those sly little elves,
Our congressmen, labored to better themselves.
They cared not a whit what the public might think
"Let them eat cake," some said with a wink.

And putting their thumbs to the tip of their nose,
they waved as they shouted "Anything goes!"

They scoffed at the thought that we might object,
to a tax cut for the wealthy of a posh percent.
They've got prerequisites-franking, per diem, and more --
bargain-priced haircuts and gyms (three or four!)

Paid speaking engagements and meals on the cuff,
celebrity status -- (they've sure got it tough!),

Yet they claim they're in touch with the man on the street,
as John Q. Public struggles to make both ends meet.
If all workers decided what they were due,
they'd be getting those fat paychecks too!

But while we take cutbacks or raises quite small,
and one out of 20 has no job at all,
our millionaire Congress decides on the budget
land trimming Medicare and Medicaid will do it, they say.

In this season for giving, our Congress is taking.
We've had it with them and our backs are breaking.
With hard times, disasters, and layoffs on our dockets,
we bit the bullet and they fill their pockets!


Oh jobless, oh homeless, oh desperate and needy -
dare anyone say our Congress is greedy?

If in this feeling I'm not alone,
take up your pen or pick up your phone.
As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,
let the road of your anger mount to the sky.

Indignant, outraged, appalled and beset
let your congressman know that you won't forget!
When election times comes -- and certain it will --
you're voting him out for passing that bill.


More rapid than eagles, their elections assured
they toasted each other and laughed at the herd.
And I heard them exclaim with adjournment at hand,

"Merry Christmas to us,
and the American public and Federal workers be dammed!

The Night Before Solstice


Twas the night before solstice and all through the co-op
Not a creature was messing the calm status quo up.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
Dreaming of lentils and warm whole-grain breads.

We'd welcomed the winter that day after school
By dancing and drumming and burning the Yule,
A more meaningful gesture to honor the planet
Than buying more trinkets for Mom or Aunt Janet,

Or choosing a tree just to murder and stump it
And deck it all out like a seasonal strumpet.
My spouse and I, having turned down the heat,
Slipped under the covers for some well-deserved sleep,

When from out on the lawn there came such a roar
I slipped from my futon and rolled to the floor.
I crawled to the window and pulled back the latch,
And muttered, "Aw, where is that Neighborhood Watch?"

I saw there below through the murk of the night
A sleigh and eight reindeer, challenged of height.
At the reins of that sleigh sat a mean-hearted knave
Who treated each deer like some personal slave.

I'd seen him before in some ads for car loans,
Plus fast food, soft drinks and cellular car phones.
He must have cashed in from these mercantile chores,
Since self-satisfaction just oozed from his pores.

He called each by name, as if 'twere his right
To treat them like chattel enhancing his might:
"Now Donner, now Blitzen," and other such aliases,
Showing his true Euro-centrical biases.

With a snap of his fingers away they all flew,
Like Democrats served up brie or tofu.
Up to the rooftop they carried the sleigh
(The damage to my shingles is there to this day).

Out bounded the man, who went straight to the flue.
I knew in an instant just what I should do.
After donning my slippers, downstairs did I dash
To see this trespasser emerge from the ash.

His clothes were all covered with soot, well of course,
From our wood-fueled alternative energy source.
Through the grime I distinguished the make of his duds--
He was trimmed all in fur, fairly dripping with blood!

"We're a cruelty-free house!" I proclaimed with such heat
He was startled and tripped on the logs at his feet.
He stood back up dazed, but with mirth in his eyes.
It was then that I noticed his unhealthy size.

He was almost as wide as when standing erect,
A lover of fatty fried foods, I suspect.
But that wasn't all to make sane persons choke:
In his teeth sat a pipe that was belching out smoke!

I could scarcely believe what had invaded our house--
This carcinogenic and overweight louse
Was so red in the face from his energy spent,
I expected a coronary right there and then.

Behind him he toted a red velvet bag
Full to exploding with sinister swag.
He asked, "Where is your tree?" with a face somewhat long.
I said, "Out in the yard, which is where it belongs."

"But where will I put all the presents I've brought?"
I looked at him squarely and said, "Take the whole lot
To some frivolous people who think that they need
To succumb to the sickness of commerce and greed,

Whose only joy comes from the act of consuming,
Thus sending the value of retail stocks booming."
He blinked and said, "Ho, ho, ho! But you're kidding."
I gave him a stare that was stern and forbidding.

"Surely children need something with which to have fun?
Or it's like childhood's over before it's begun."
He looked in my eyes for some sign of assent,
But I strengthened my will and refused to relent.

"They have plenty of fun," I cut to the gist,
"And your mindless distractions have never been missed.
They take CPR so that they can save lives,
And they go door-to-door on used clothing drives.

They recycle, renew, reuse and reveal
For saving the planet's a laudable zeal.
When they padlock themselves to a fence to protest
Against nuclear power, we think they're the best."

He said, "But they're children--lo, when do they play?"
I countered, "Is that why you've come in your sleigh,
"To bring joy to the hearts of each child and tot?
All right, open your bag; let's see what you've got."

He sheepishly did as I'd asked and behold!
A Malibu Barbie in a skirt of gold.
"You think that my girls will like playing with this,
An icon of sexist, consumerist kitsch?

With its unnat'ral figure and airheaded grin,
This trollop makes every girl yearn to be thin,
And take up fad diets, bingeing and purging
Instead of respecting her own body's urging

To welcome the shape that her body has found
And rejoice to be lanky, short, skinny or round."
Deep from his satchel he produced up a toy,
Saying, "This is a hit with most every boy."

And what did he put in my trembling hand
But a gun from the BrainBlaster Power Command!
"It's a 'hit,' to be sure," I sneered in his face,
"And a plague and a pox on the whole human race!

How 'bout grenades or some working bazookas
To turn all of our kids into half-wit palookas?"
I seized on his bag just to see for myself
The filth being spread by this odious elf.

An Easy-Bake Oven--ah, goddess, what perfidy!
To hoodwink young girls into household captivity!
Plus an archer play set with shafts that fly out,
The very thing to put a child's eye out.

And toy metal tractors, steam shovels and cranes
For destroying woodlands and scarring the plains,
Plus "games" like Monop'ly, Pay Day, Tycoon,
As if lessons in greed can't start up too soon.

And even more weapons from BrainBlasters Co.,
Like cannons and nun-chucks and ray guns that glow.
That's all I could find in his red velvet sack--
Perverseness and mayhem to set us all back.

"We need none of this," I announced in a huff,
"No 'business-as-usual' holiday stuff.
"We sow in our offspring more virtue than this.
Your goods are things that they'll never miss."

The big man's expression was a trifle bereaved
As he shouldered his pack and got ready to leave.
"I pity the kids who grow up around here,
Who're never permitted to be of good cheer,

Who aren't allowed leisure for leisure's own sake,
But must fret every minute--it makes my heart ache!"
"Enough histrionics! Don't pity our kids
If they don't do as Macys or Toys 'R' Us bids.

They live by their principles first and foremost
And know what's important," to him I did boast.
"Pray, could I meet them?" "Oh no, they're not here.
By now, they're on the roof, liberating your deer!"

At that Santa sputtered and pointed his finger
But, mad as he was, he had no time to linger.
He flew up the chimney like smoke from a fire,
And up on the roof I heard voices get higher.

I ran outside the co-op to see him react
To my children's responsible, kindhearted act.
He chased them away, and disheartened, dismayed,
He rehitched his reindeer (who'd docilely stayed).

I watched with delight as he scooted off then;
He'd be too embarrassed to come back again.
But with parting disdain, do you know what he said,
This overweight huckster when he took off in his sled?

This reindeer enslaver, this exploiter of elves?
"Happy Christmas to all, but get over yourselves!!"

Twas the nite Before the BCS
And all through N’Awlins
The pits were a smoking
The crawfish boilin’
The banners were hung
In the Superdome with care
Knowing LSU & BAMA
Soon would be there
The Tigers were nestled
All safe in their beds
While visions of Shady’s
Danced in their heads
And Nick with his pitchfork
And Les in his cap
Were drawing the game plan
No time for a nap
When out in the Quarter
There arose such a clatter
It startled Nick Satan
And Les the Mad Hatter
A guy yelled “Go Bama”
Another “Roll Tide”
The Tiger fans
Turned from Jekyll to Hyde
They shouted in Unison
Bama Sucks; Tiger Bait
For Bama was the team
They all loved to hate
Dusk turned to dawn
And fans stumbled home
In just a few hours
They’d all fill the dome

The game soon kicked off
It was lively and quick
Bama scored first
Which gladdened 'St.' Nick
Les calmly bent down
And chewed on some turf
He wouldn’t be outcoached
By a little red smurf
Now Jordan Now Spencer
Now Kenny Now O’Dell
On Reuben On Russell
On Jarvis Give em’ hell
To the end of the field
And into the zone
Let’s go score some points
And bring the title home

The O started rolling
And soon they did score
The crowd went wild
Mike let out a roar
But the Tide seemed to beckon
The ghost of the Bear
And right before halftime
A kick sailed through the air
It soared through the uprights
Both mighty and true
Alabama had 10 To 7 for LSU

The bands took the field
And put on a show
The crowds hit the john
They all had to go
Meanwhile in the locker
Adjustments were made
The second half game plan
Was carefully laid
The second half kickoff
Went to the Tide
LSU tried to trick em
And kicked it onside
The Tide did recover
And started their drive

But the Tiger D stiffened
The crowd came alive
Between the Freak
And the kid named Mingo
They were all over the field
Like an old lady at Bingo

They went back and forth
A heavyweight battle
The fans got real nervous
But Les didn’t rattle
Who would you trust
A coach who eats grass
Or one who looks distressed
As if he has gas

We should all thank 'St.' Nick
And bend on our knees
It was he who chose Culpepper
Instead of Drew Brees

The clock ticked down
Only 10 seconds to go
Bama punted the ball
Time to put on a show
He weaved through the Tide
As if they weren’t there
They grasped at his jersey
And came up with air

He crossed the goal line
As the clock ticked to zero
Once again number 7
Was the LSU hero
The crowd did erupt
The journey was through
The National Champions
The Tigers of LSU

And I heard him proclaim
Over cheering and taunts
Honey Badger gets
What Honey Badger wants!

Thas The Night Before Christmas ...[i] Submariner Style

To all you Service Men and Women all over the world and all the families that support them... A Merry and Blessed Christmas, A Happy Holiday and a Safe and Peaceful New Year.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KL6uhaP_KSA&sns=fb