By Hottywood Helps
Twas the night before Christmas, all was said and done
Not a creature stirred, not a roach, rat or bum.
The stockings were hung on the radiator with fear
That St. Nicholas would knock it over like he did last year.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
High from the weed that had gone to their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our skins from a long booty clap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a noise,
Someone’s car was being jacked by some random masked boys.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
To make sure it wasn’t my car or I’d have to kick someone’s ass.
The moonlight bounced off the oil stained snow
Which pissed off the property manager and the neighborhood ho.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a pimped out sleigh and mutts dressed as reindeer.
With a little old driver shifting gears on the stick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his curse words came,
He whistled, and slurred, and called the bitches by name!
“Now Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the hood and over that wall!
Don’t piss on the roof or else I’ll slip and fall!
The bare naked trees that stood tall in the sky
Were blocking the vision of my already bad eyes.
To the roof of the projects the pimped ride flew,
With a bag of IOU’s and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
St. Nicholas falling into a pile of dog poop.
He was wiping his butt when I turned around.
St. Nick wasn’t as jolly as you’d expect him to sound.
He was dressed all in leather, from his head to his feet,
He gave me a head nod instead of using words to speak.
He carried with him a bundle of toys
That he’d stolen from other little girls and boys.
His eyes were red from the liquor he drank.
His breath was all stinky. Santa was tanked!
He was mad from the poop that was smeared on his clothes,
Either that or from when he accidentally rubbed his nose.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
The same as the crackhead’s from down the street.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
I think he had the munchies because he asked for some jelly.
Stoned or drunk, he was a giant old midget
That was stealing, not giving, and couldn’t control his fidget.
A wink of his eye cloaked with Christmas care
Made me think I should probably be scared.
He spoke not a word, he made not a sound,
But as I predicted knocked the radiator to the ground.
When the children woke up, out of the window he flew,
Santa had done what he’d come to do.
He left us with nothing but a note under the tree
That read, “Next year Christmas is on me.”
I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight,
“Merry Christmas next year ’cause tonight is my night!”