Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even my spouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
Because putting them anywhere else would result in being covered in pet hair.
The teenager lay haphazardly sticking out of his bed,
While visions of iPads danced in his head.
And Daddy in his flannel flame print pajama pants, and I in my old T-shirt,
Had just settled down early because we’re old and we hurt.
When out in the living room there arose such a clatter,
The Husband Dude jumped and grumbled “What the hell is the matter?”
Away to the living room I flew like a flash,
Baseball bat in hand for a burglar’s head to bash.
I turned on the lamp, followed closely by The Husband Dude,
And illuminated a house cat with a very bad attitude.
And what, to my weary eyes should appear,
Our Christmas tree laid out like a freshly shot deer.
It was climbed by a little black puma I’m afraid,
As he stood proudly in front of the mess he had made.
With a holler and shout and threats I proclaimed,
I proceeded to chase him and called him bad names.
“Now *bleep*! Now *bleep*! Now *bleep* and *bleep*!
On *bleep! On *bleep* On *bleep* and *bleep*!
I looked at the mess and cussed all the while,
We searched for all of the ornament hooks lost in the carpet pile.
The Husband Dude would have to secure the tree with a wire to the wall,
We’d have to sort all the gifts and straighten them all.
If only we could all just go back to bed,
There was just too much too do, I thought, with dread.
That’s when I heard it, a sound on the roof,
I thought it just can’t be, it has to be a goof.
I looked up from the fallen tree and turned slowly around,
When down the chimney St. Nicolas came with a bound.
He was dressed in a plaid flannel shirt with skinny jeans and slip-on shoes,
I didn’t even recognize him in those denim blues!
He had a bundle of gifts in a fancy knapsack,
Clearly Santa’s much more modern now and knows how to pack.
His eyes how they twinkled! His nose like a cherry!
I realized he might be tipsy and gave new meaning to “merry”.
The stump of a vape pipe he held tight in his teeth,
The scent of strawberry vapor encircled his head like a wreath.
That’s when I realized that Santa was a hipster,
Was I being punked by a joking quipster?
He was not chubby or plump or at all what they say,
He never said “ho, ho, ho” but he kept calling me Bae.
Then he went straight to work, and picked up our tree,
He filled all the stockings, tidied up and winked at me.
And with a Michael Jackson dance on the tips of his toes,
He tipped his fedora and up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to the roof, but not to a sleigh,
I think it was a longboard, but it’s hard to say.
And like magic he lifted up and flew far away,
Shouting Merry Christmas to all and to all Namaste!
Stay weird, my friends. Normal is boring. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.