*** Christmas ***
I've been getting ready for Christmas
I'm revving up for the great day
My credit card's cracked
and my freezer is packed
'cause I started my shopping in May
The mistletoe's hanging in bunches
'cause the odd Christmas kiss isn't wrong
and the neighbor I've found
likes coming around
and exploring my teeth with his tongue
The postman has gotten quite friendly
he's after a present I fear
he won't feel so chuffed
when I tell him - "get stuffed"
'cause he doesn't speak the rest of the year
The family is coming for dinner
last year it was quite a good laugh
we ate fairly late
had the veg on the plate
then discovered the turkey was still in the bath
The kids are all pink with excitement
'cause Santa will come, so they say
their lists are extensive
and extremely expensive
and they'll break them all by New Year's day
But it's worth all the fuss Christmas morning
when their little eyes are all aglow
when we're all feeling merry
full of goodwill and sherry
and passing the wind, Ho Ho Ho
But please don't forget why we do it
why each year we must go to this fuss
for that guy up above
who brought peace and brought love
and who probably owns Toys R Us
-Liz Garrad
*** At Christmas Time ***
At Xmas time when we were kids, we were bloody poor,
and Santa wasn't too generous when he knocked upon our door.
But we made do by saving up, yes every little bit.
"We may be poor" said dear old Dad, "but I don't give a shit!"
Our Xmas tree stood tall & proud and rigid as a totem,
With Xmas baubles hanging there, like testies in your scrotum!
Everyone loved Xmas dinner, no if's, and's or but's,
and all us kids would piss ourselves when Grandpa puked his guts.
We'd leave a six pack for Santa, and he always drank it quick,
then I found out it was just my Dad, that alcoholic prick!
But all in all we had fun, and lot & lots of cheer,
I can't wait till I've got kids, cause I'll get a carton of beer!
-Bruce Thompson
*** Letter to Rudolph ***
Dear Husband, it's time I must have my say,
I've taken your shit day after day.
I've kept the home peaceful year after year,
Now there's going to be changes, so listen up my dear.
Yes, you're famous, everyone knows your name,
And you're a specialist by God, in the transportation game.
You think you're so grand with your important part,
But I'm telling you, my dear, you're a worn out old fart.
Three hundred and sixty-three days of the year,
You sit on your ass drinking rum and beer.
You claim it'is to keep the shine on your nose,
so Santa can see where he goes.
One night a year is all that you work,
you and your eight feisty mates (they're all jerks).
Dasher and Dancer are speed freaks I'd say,
'cause the sleigh can't go that fast any other way.
Prancer and Vixen are cheap little tarts,
But they look like angels once Comet starts.
Cupid's on some freaked out power trip,
And Donner...well, she should just get a grip.
Blitzen, I almost don't need to say,
is here getting blitzed with you every day.
All of these years at the front of the sled,
has gone, I'm afraid, to your big fat old head.
You're a bum and a drunkard, with a big shiny nose,
and a weakness for elves in sheer black pantyhose.
I'm telling you dear, that the one Christmas song,
has made you think that you can do no wrong.
So this year while you're out with Santa's old sled,
I am eloping with your friend, good old Mr. Ed.
-Denise Hobbs