The reindeer were grazing in weather oddly pleasant,
But jolly St Nicholas, he wasn't present.
The children were playing with jumpropes and bats,
And baseballs, beach umbrellas, frisbees and crap.
And Charlie in his bluejeans, and I in my whites,
Were just violently wrestling and having a fight.
When all of a sudden we all were freeze-framed,
Until Santa called each of us by our names.
Away to the beach we all flew
Through junkyards piled up with rusty old trash.
Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer were hid in the bush,
Spying on us like two agents from THRUSH*.
When we got there and spotted this wretched old dick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his feet,
And his clothes were all soaked with cheap whiskey and sweat*.
He didn't appear an intelligent man,
With his sleigh somehow stuck in two inches of sand.
His eyes--how they squinted! his dimples--how saggy!
His cheeks were like bread dough, his nose was all craggy!
He had a broad face and a sweaty round belly,
That stunk like a bowlful of old rancid jelly!
We promised to get Santa out of the sand,
(Though his sleigh could have easily been dug out by hand).
We tried a gorilla, a pig and a horse,
And a donkey, but didn't actually bother trying to hitch them up to the sleigh or anything.
So none of them worked, of course.
Santa told us the tale of a dumb-looking girl
Who mindlessly wandered around Pirates World.
She went into a building, where an old PA speaker
Told her the tale of Thumbelina*.
Thumbelina, the heroine of story and song,
And of this crappy movie, interminably long.
She was kidnapped and carried down into a hole,
And got marriage proposals from frogs and from moles.
Santa's story was pointless. Dude, WTF?
So we left and came back in an old firetruck
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
Santa knew in a moment it must be... the Ice Cream Bunny?!
He looked creepy and dead-eyed, or at least deadpan
And he needed to hold up his head with one hand.
He had one working eyelid and a little pink nose,
And his clodhopper feet had clawlike bent toes.
Santa sprang on the firetruck and stood at the back,
And away they both drove in that rickety old hack.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he lurched out of sight,
"We've established that, uh, we will try to make it, won't we?"
Adapted from "A Visit from St. Nicholas" by Clement Moore. Inspired by this:
*Yeah, I know that didn't really rhyme, but whaddya want? More effort than the filmmakers put into it?!