A funny collection of Twas The Night Before Christmas parodies
| The Day After Christmas
Posted to misc.writing by Robert McClelland (email@example.com) on 2002-12-06.
'Twas the day after Christmas, and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, cause we all were still soused;
The stockings were slung `cross the tree without care,
Cause mom got real drunk and had sex with dad there;
The children were grounded and confined to their beds,
They had caused such a ruckus and got smacked on their heads;
And me with bare head since I'd thrown up in my cap,
Had just woken up from my long drunken nap,
When out on the street there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed, I was mad and getting matter.
Stumbled to the window, banged my head, saw a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up on the sash.
The sun on the breast of the new-fallen snow
hurt my eyes, made me dizzy, I thought I'd fall below,
When, what to my bleary eyes should appear,
But a white postal truck, decorated with eight tiny reindeer,
With a union driver, not so lively or so quick,
I knew in a moment this could not be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles from the truck the bills came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them all by name;
"Now MASTERCARD! Now AMEX! And VISA that VIXEN!
The interest they'll charge! You shouldn't have gone a'BLITZEN!
They want their money! Your back's against the wall!
You spent too much! You spent too much! Now you must pay them all!"
As dry heaves overcame me, I tried to flee, tried to fly,
I clasped my hands together and offered a prayer up to the sky,
So into the mailbox, the bills they all flew,
To add injury to insult, my tax bill was there too.
And then, a thought occured, I'd climb up on the roof
And throw myself off, to be trampled under hoof.
As I climbed out the window, a noise caused me to turn around,
Through the front door, the postal worker came with a great bound.
He was dressed all in nylon, with mismatched boots on each foot,
He reeked of cheap gin and smelled of pipe soot;
A bundle of bills he had flung on his back,
He looked like a bum, lit a cig and threw away the empty pack.
He was ugly and plump, a right smelly old elf,
And I gagged when I smelled him, I couldn't help myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Made me think he was gay and I soon filled with dread;
He farted, oh my word and went straight to his work,
unloading all the bills ; I thought he was a jerk,
And putting his finger inside of his nose,
He pulled out a booger and admired it like a rose;
Then he sprang to his truck, now wheezing like a whistle,
And careened down the street like the down of a thistle.
But I saw him give me the finger, ere he drove out of sight,
"I HOPE YOU HAD A GOOD TIME, YOU'LL BE SUFFERING A FORT-NIGHT."
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