Not a creature was stirring, not even a bathroom vent fan light fixture mouse.
No stockings were hung on the chimney in there
For St. Hickolas would eat all the goodies--not fair!
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
Lazy little bums, texts and computer games filling their heads.
And me in my Crocs, spilled Chex lining my lap
Wishing I dared drink a tall winter's nightcap.
Then down in the basement there arose such a clatter
I jumped up from the La-Z-Boy to see what was the matter.
Away to the rail, I flew like a flash
Saw St. Hick's belt give his stomach an industrial-sized smash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Heh, heh, I said "breast" that's inappropriate, you know.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear...
I don't know--with these bifocals, my vision ain't clear.
Oh! A chunky old goat, not lively, not quick.
I knew in an instant it must be St. Hick.
He had no deer with him, around here they're called, "game."
And he burped and he farted and thought that not lame.
"Now Genius, now Pony, now Val, you darn vixen!
To drive into town now is what to do I am fixin'."
St. Hick made no sense, his language bluff we did call.
"Dang this darn syntax, to Not-Heaven dang it all!"
He was draped in red velvet, social-acceptability be darned!
Got a puffy coat in the temp drops, so please be forewarned.
A bundle of toys he flung on his back
Bought sight-unseen at the auction, in a peddler's pack.
He was chubby and plump, a bit like myself
And I laughed when I saw him, that overgrown elf!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Made him twitchy and deformed, "Cut that out now!" I said.
He spoke not a word, but got down on one knee.
Posing, I guess, for a picture, heehee.
And laying a finger aside of his nose,
Sucking in his gut...up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his Gator on $980 feet, like a missile
Rolled away with no sound, ruminating on gristle.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drive out of sight,
"Too much Auction Meat, I think...this belt is too tight!"
Well Done!
ReplyDeleteOh, if this is what you're offering THREE nights before Christmas, I cannot wait to see what you serve up with the milk and cookies tomorrow and the next night...
ReplyDeleteI hope St. Hick doesn't encounter any reindeer. Stepping into caribou poop with a $490 foot would be horrid...
OMG - I just can't stop laughing - this is amazing writing!
ReplyDeleteI agree. I'll be laughing for a while over this one.
ReplyDeleteOh what fun it is to read Val's blog post today!
ReplyDeleteVery clever. I like how this Christmas poem incorporates many of your themes. Take care and Merry Christmas.
ReplyDeleteYou, my friend, are hilarious!
ReplyDeleteYou are too funny! You should do stand-up. Merry Christmas to you and yours.
ReplyDeletejoeh,
ReplyDeleteThank you, Sir! Well done is also the way I would encourage adventurous souls to cook their Auction Meat.
******
Sioux,
I cannot function under pressure. Like an educational institution in its fifth cycle of MSIP, I find myself hard-pressed to show marked improvement EVERY time. If only I had started out pitiful, then I might be able to rise to each occasion.
******
knancy,
Val is not responsible for butts that fall off during the reading of her blog, nor for any asphyxiations that arise due to lack of oxygen to the brain while heehawing.
*****
Tammy,
Take a deep breath, and hold onto your butt. Which is more valuable than the average butt, if the scuttlebutt from a certain Madam can be believed.
******
Linda,
Maybe we'll sing a sleighing song in a one-horse open sleigh tonight.
******
Lynn,
Thank you for enabling me.
******
Donna,
If I do stand-up, I'm going to need some of those $980.00 insoles from The Good Feet Store.