Wednesday, December 19, 2012

'Twas the Night Before Christmas

Santa parked his sleigh in front of the liquor store and purchased a bottle of whiskey, a little Christmas Spirit to stave off the cold on his long, arduous mission.. The reindeer waited impatiently in the parking lot, stomping their feet and snorting, filled with pent-up anxiety and ready to get on with their international odyssey.
The libations hit the fat man hard and somewhere over the Arctic Circle he was starting to feel the mounting pressure of his annual responsibility. As the bottle emptied his resentment grew. Why, thought he, do I have to perform this charade year after year? The little bastards, the recipients were more often naughty than nice and the whole world knew it. What the world didn’t know is that the jolly fellow of eighteenth century poems is a myth. In reality Santa is a wild-eyed alcoholic with a penchant for profanity and fondling young boys as they sat upon his knee in the festive department store display.
Somewhere in North America he stopped in a small town and bought another bottle. He staggered out to his sleigh, and in a profanity-laced tirade, coaxed his reindeer to a nearby rooftop. He slid drunkenly down the chimney and landed clumsily in the fireplace, bruising his ribs and cursing under his breath. He greedily ate the cookies left there on the table, while the children were nestled all snug in their beds, and disdainfully dumped the glass of milk on the carpet with a perverse chuckle. The old fat man then stumbled down the hall and peered into the bedroom of the sleeping housewife, clutching his sack and drooling like the sadistic, overweight voyeur he was. Before leaving, he unzipped and urinated on the Christmas tree in a final, drunken act of desecration. He stumbled out the door, the front of his pants wet with urine, and staggered his way to a quiet alley.
So, there he lies, like a gin-addled transient, bedecked in a grimy red suit trimmed with the skins of exploited vermin and stinking of liver disease. His filthy, louse-ridden beard stained with vomit and egg nog.


  1. Darker than Dickens, more sinister than Shelley, a real Festive treat Hermster . . . Santa's here !!!