Let me
start with “I'm sorry” – I can't say that enough –
It's the
worst thing I've done, and I've done some baaaaaad stuff.
Have a
seat, count to ten, take a swig of your booze.
If you like
getting presents, I've got some bad news.
It began
Christmas Eve. It had started to snow.
I turned on
MTV for the “Jackass” Christmas Show.
Johnny ate
chocolate Santas made from fresh human waste
And it got me to think, How would old St. Nick taste?
So I stayed
up real late, on adrenaline, I suppose.
When at
3:33, I heard three distinct “ho’s”.
I’d
describe it in detail, but I don’t want to be rude.
Blah blah blah, yadda yadda, I digested the dude.
When I'd
finished my snack, I felt guilty, I guess.
So I woke
up my Mom so that I could confess.
I
must’ve looked different. Mom gasped,
“Son, you’re so round!
When I went
to bed, you weighed 48 pounds!”
Then I told
her the story, wearing Santa's red coat,
How he came
down the chimney and went right down my throat.
“He
was old, he was ready, it was peaceful,” I said.
“Plus, we had left the fire going, so he was already dead.”
Mom was
stuck in denial. She wanted some proof.
So I showed
her the reindeer were still on our roof.
And there
was even more evidence under our tree.
There were bones and a fork where the presents should be.
“I’ll
be honest,” Mom told me, “I'm a little irate.
Still,
you’re my son and I love you, whomever you ate.
But there's
bound to be fallout. People loved that old
man.
Let's sit
down by his entrails and come up with a plan.”
Just a
minute went by, then just one minute more,
Then all
the kids of the world showed up right at our door.
They
demanded their toys. It was out of control.
Naughty kids showed up, too – they wanted their coal!
Mom grabbed
her AK, then she started to bawl,
“We
don’t have enough ammo to slaughter them all!
Let’s
just give back the presents, then no one gets hurt.”
“Uh,
Mom, that won’t work. I had them for
dessert.”
Mom
suggested we take a diversionary tack.
(We put on
some disguises and slipped out the back.)
She said,
“I don't like this heat, kid, we'll have to lie low.
Now let's make for a place no sane person would go.”
We left
town, then our state, the U.S. and so forth,
Kept on
trekking from home to somewhere very far North.
Then my
compass went screwy. It was on overload.
We followed
some sleigh tracks to an old woman’s abode.
There were
toys everywhere, but no kids, which was strange.
The mailbox
said “Kringle”, the décor said “deranged”.
“My
husband’s on business,” the woman said. “I’ve
been cooking.”
My Mom made
the “crazy” sign when she wasn’t looking.
“We’ll
stay here for a while,” Mom whispered, “me and you.
“There’ll
be no reminders of what we’ve been through.
And if she
does something funny, I’ve still got my gun.”
The woman said, “Dinner is served, everyone!”
Then the
old lady served us a sweet-smelling brew.
It’s a
dish that she called “Mrs. C’s Reindeer Stew”.
“Take
a taste,” she insisted. “It’s
delectable.”
“No thanks,” I replied. “I’m a little bit full.”
© 2002 Jerry M.