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Skriven 2005-03-04 20:35:46 av Greg Sears (1:153/307)
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G-day Mate,

THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

(a Tale of Wisdom for the Young at Heart)

Twas the night before Christmas, and in the light of the moon
Not a creature was stirring, for they hadn't a spoon;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care
They'd been worn for months now, and they needed air;

The kiddies were nestled all snug and all merry,
While Mum and Dad paused to finish the sherry,

Which the kiddies had planted, with a great deal of care
to get Santa plastered and keep him right there,

When out on the street there arose a great clatter
Dad jumped to his feet to see what was the matter.

Away to the window he staggered erratically,
Tore open the window and threw-up emphatically.

The moon on the scene of the dismal front lawn
Showed all just as bleak as it did every morn,

When, what to his wondering eyes should appear,
But a battered old car, with bald tires and worn gear,

And a pissed old driver, clearly a prick,
Which he knew in a moment must be Saint Nick.

Painfully crawling Nick came up in time,
And whistled and stumbled and laughed (all in rhyme);

To the top of the wall he managed to scramble,
with a sack full of somethings which he continued to trample,

And as Dad drew back, catching his neck on the sash,
Down the chimney St Nicholas fell, with a crash.

He was dressed in a fur, from a seal he'd once met,
And he wore a bright badge that said: "Qualified Vet";

He had a bundle of toys, which he'd pinched next door
From Mrs McAndrew's young shit of four;

His eyes were bloodshot and his breath very heavy,
His face was bright scarlet, and he went for the sherry;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his cheek,
God knows what he smoked, but it sure wasn't cheap;

He was fat and ugly, a right twisted old elf,
Dad laughed when he saw him, he couldn't help himself;

Nick spoke not a word, though he started to titter
As he filled all the stockings with dry shit and litter,

Then laying his finger aside of his nose,
He left by the garden, tripping over the hose,

And sprang at his car, which he missed in the dark,
Falling into the gutter well wide of his mark,

But arising, good natured, he boarded, (sat tall),
Revved the engine expertly then drove through the wall,

And roared down the street and away in the night,
But Dad heard him exclaim ere he drove out of sight:

"Damn this Christmas business and all it entails,
And damn RBT and damn New South Wales"

Salutations from --Christchurch-+
  ICE-man in      /\            |          \ | /   Mountains, Sunshine
 New Zealand     /  \/\         |  /\      - O -   Forestry, Farming
-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^/      \!!ii,,..@-/==\---^-^-^-^-^ Beaches and Surfing


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