Twas the night before Boxing Day, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, especially not a mouse, because what kind of
low-class garbage-people have mice living in their house nowadays?
The children were flung on the floor with abandon
After eviscerating every package they could get their grubby hands on.
They looked at us, grinning from ear to ear,
While they formulated what they would ask Santa for next year.
I looked at my wife, and groaned with ennui,
“We’ve raised some shitty children, haven’t we?”
When out in the kitchen arose cries of “Mayday!”,
I closed my robe and stumbled into the doorway.
The sight I was greeted with made me reel with horror:
The dog had vomited cookies all over the floor.
“The damn dog ate all the cookies again!” I roared,
“I warned you about this last year, you whore!”
When, what to my seething rage barged in,
But Uncle Norm with a big bottle of gin.
Looking slightly confused, and more so half-crocked,
He suddenly remembered the gifts he forgot.
“I’ll buy you kids something nice in an hour,
But first I have to go sleep in your shower.
“Now Wilbur hurry and run to the kitchen!
And bring your uncle a couple acetaminophen!
Meanwhile I’ll stay here and chastise my brother
For your dumb-ass name and your slut of a mother.”
As mucus that oozes from an infirmed child’s nose,
Drips down past its roost and lands on her toes.
So onto the floor the dog did let loose
With a slurry of cookies in a vile gastric juice.
And then, to my horror, I heard shouts of glee
From a frolicking, unsupervised, puke-covered baby.
As I ran to go de-cookie-ize the floor
Came a polite but insistent knock at the door.
The heavy oak panel creaked open on its own,
And a mysterious chill crossed the threshold with a moan.
An imposing silhouette that was lit from outside
Limped into the den with a pitiful stride.
His clothes were disheveled and covered with grime.
It was clear from the smell he hadn’t bathed for some time.
He clutched in his hand a large, lumpy sack,
And, meeting eyes with the children, his mouth grew quite slack.
“I, uh, didn’t expect anyone to still be awake.
You’re the last on my list of deliveries to make.”
“SANTA!” exclaimed the children with exuberant delight.
“But, didn’t you already visit our house last night?”
Taken aback by the children’s confusion,
It was clear he could no longer keep up the illusion.
“You know that Santa only visits on Christmas Eve.
You must have gotten these from my helper, Hanukkah Steve.”
“Hey Santa,” I hissed, quite obviously peeved,
“Today’s Christmas DAY, not Christmas Eve.”
“So, today’s not December 24, 2016?”
“No, NEXT year’s the leap year, you airheaded old queen.”
“Well shit, no wonder people have been confused all night!
I guess I should lay off the Quaaludes and Vegemite.
Well then, in that case I should probably be on my way.
Thanks for the hospitality, and happy Boxing Day!”
-Josh Bodner, Guest Writer