Tis the season…

This one has a special meaning to all those who served…

Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone

  In a one bedroom house made of plaster and stone

  I had come down the chimney with presents to give

  And to see just who in this home did live

 

  I looked all about, a strange sight I did see

  No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree

  No stocking by mantle, just boots filled with sand

  On the wall hung pictures of far distant lands

 

  With medals and badges, awards of all kinds

  A sober thought did come through my mind

  For this house was different, it was dark and dreary

  I found the home of a soldier, once I could see clearly

 

  The soldier lay sleeping, silent and alone

  Curled up on the floor in this one bedroom home

  The face was so gentle, the room in such disorder

  Not how I pictured a United States soldier

 

  Was this the hero of whom I’d just read?

  Curled up on a poncho, the floor for a bed?

  I realized the families that I saw this night

  Owed their lives to these soldiers who were willing to fight

 

  Soon round the world, the children would play

  And grownups would celebrate a bright Christmas day

  They all enjoyed freedom each month of the year

  Because of the soldiers, like the one lying here

 

  I couldn’t help wonder how many lay alone

  On a cold Christmas eve in a land far from home

  The very thought brought a tear to my eye

  I dropped to my knees and started to cry

 

  The soldier awakened and I heard a rough voice

  Santa don’t cry, this life is my choice

  I fight for freedom, I don’t ask for more

  My life is my God, my Country, my Corps

 

  The soldier rolled over and drifted to sleep

  I couldn’t control it, I continued to weep

  I kept watch for hours, so silent and still

  And we both shivered from the cold nights chill

 

  I didn’t want to leave on that cold, dark, night

  This guardian of honor so willing to fight

  Then the soldier rolled over, with a voice soft and pure

  Whispered Carry on Santa, all is secure

 

  One look at my watch and I knew he was right

  Merry Christmas, my friend, and to all a good night

 

  By:  Major Bruce Lovely, adopted from a similar poem

  by Anonymous.

++++++++++

Twas the Night Before Christmas in Yonkers

 

   ‘Twas the night before Christmas,

    Da whole house was mella,

    Not a creature was stirrin’,

    Cuz I had a gun unda da pilla.

 

    When up on da roof

    I heard somethin’ pound,

    I sprung to da window,

    To scream, “YO! Keep it down!”

 

    When what to my

    Wanderin’ eyes should appear,

    But da Don of all elfs,

    And eight friggin’ reindeer!

 

    Wit’ slicked back black hair,

    And a silk red suit,

    Don Christopher wuz here,

    And he brought da loot!

 

    Wit’ a slap to dare snouts,

    And a yank on dare manes,

    He cursed and he shouted,

    And he called dem by name.

 

    “Yo Tony, Yo Frankie,

    Yo Vinny, Yo Vito,

    Ay Joey, Ay Paulie,

    Ay Pepe, Ay Guido!”

 

    As I drew out my gun

    And hid by da bed,

    He flew troo da winda

    And slapped me up side da head.

 

    “What da hell you doin’

    Pullin’ a gun on da Don?

    Now all you’re gettin’ is coal,

    You friggin’ moron!”

 

    Den pointin’ a fat finga

    Right unda my nose,

    He twisted his pinky ring,

    And up da chimney he rose.

 

    He sprang to his sleigh,

    Obscenities screamin’,

    Away dey all flew,

    Before he troo dem a beatin’.

 

    Den I heard him yell out,

    Two, tree times, I expect

    “Merry Friggin’ Christmas to all,

    And you’s better show some respect!

++++++++++++

T’was the night before Christmas – Old Santa was pissed

He cussed out the elves and threw down his list

Miserable little brats, ungrateful little jerks

I have a good mind to scrap the whole works

I’ve busted my ass for damn near a year

Instead of “Thanks Santa” – what do I hear

The old lady bitches cause I work late at night

The elves want more money – The reindeer all fight

Rudolph got drunk and goosed all the maids

Donner is pregnant and Vixen has AIDS

And just when I thought that things would get better

Those assholes from IRS sent me a letter

They say I owe taxes – if that ain’t damn funny

Who the hell ever sent Santa Clause any money

And the kids these days – they all are the pits

They want the impossible …Those mean little shits

I spent a whole year making wagons and sleds Assembling dolls…Their

arms,

legs and heads I made tons of yo yo’s – No request for them They want

computers and robots…they think I’m IBM!

If you think that’s bad…just picture this

Try holding those brats…with their pants full of piss

They pull on my nose – they grab at my beard

And if I don’t smile…their moms think I’m weird

Flying through the air…dodging the trees

Falling down chimneys and skinning my knees

I’m quitting this job…there’s just no enjoyment

I’ll sit on my fat ass and draw unemployment

There’s no Christmas this year…now you know the reason

I found me a blonde.. I’m going SOUTH for the season!!

++++++++++++

I think Santa Claus is a woman….

I hate to be the one to defy sacred myth, but I believe he’s a she.

Think about it. Christmas is a big, organized, warm, fuzzy, nurturing social deal, and I have a tough time believing a guy could  possibly pull it all off!

For starters, the vast majority of men don’t even think about selecting gifts until Christmas Eve. Once at the mall, they always seem surprised to find only Ronco products, socket wrench sets, and mood rings left on the shelves.  On this count alone, I’m convinced Santa is a woman.

Surely, if he were a man, everyone in the universe would wake up Christmas morning to find a rotating musical Chia Pet under the tree, still in the bag.

Another problem for a he-Santa would be getting there.  First of all, there would be no reindeer because they would all be dead, gutted  and strapped on to the rear bumper of the sleigh amid wide-eyed, desperate claims that buck season had been extended. Blitzen’s rack would already be on the way to the taxidermist.  Even if the male Santa DID have reindeer, he’d still have  transportation problems because he would inevitably get lost up there in the snow and clouds and then refuse to stop and ask for directions.

Other reasons why Santa can’t possibly be a man:

    – Men can’t pack a bag.

    – Men would rather be dead than caught wearing red velvet.

    – Men would feel their masculinity is threatened…having to be seen with all those elves.

    – Men don’t answer their mail.

    – Men would refuse to allow their physique to be described even in jest as anything remotely resembling a “bowlful of jelly.”

    – Men aren’t interested in stockings unless somebody’s wearing them.

    – Having to do the Ho Ho Ho thing would seriously inhibit their ability to pick up women.

  – Finally, being responsible for Christmas would require a commitment.

I can buy the fact that other mythical holiday characters are men………Father Time shows up once a year unshaven and looking ominous.  Definite guy.

Cupid flies around carrying weapons.

Uncle Sam is a politician who likes to point fingers.  Any one of these individuals could pass the testosterone screening test.

But not St. Nick.  Not a chance.

Enjoy your time with your families, and take a moment to remember those who are far from home this holiday season, standing the watch wherever they may be.


Comments

Tis the season… — 7 Comments

  1. Dang. Just perfect.

    The Marine was the watch, so Santa can move safely.

    Leave a fresh, clean poncho liner and your respects. IIRC, the old saint himself was that grizzled, watching at the bounds of his faith for enemy action.

    God bless and keep ’em all.

  2. Good ones. A good chuckle for the last ones and as someone who was once deployed during Christmas, I appreciate the first.

  3. This made my heart warm (heart burn) and my eyes water (from laughing so heard). But with all the planning and cleaning for family to come, I needed this to lighten the load. Have a great Christmas, Jim, but keep the rod under the pillow. Give out hugs instead.

    • Now I really hope you don’t find a copy of _Gastone the Green-Nosed Alligator_ or _The Cajun Night before Christmas_. 😉

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