Todd Hartley: I’m With Stupid
December 24, 2009
‘Twas the night before Christmas in the U.S. of A.
And no one had presents ’cause no one could pay.
The stockings were hung despite holes in their sole,
And with gas so expensive we all prayed for coal.
The children were nestled in rough burlap sacks
Since their beds had been sold to pay off our tax,
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And mama in a T-shirt and I in the buff
Fell asleep wondering how things got so tough,
When out in the alley something upset the peace,
So I sprang from my bed to call the police.
I crept to the window but was ready to run
In case the intruder outside had a gun.
The moon on the trash and the dirty brown snow
Bathed the dumpsters and cans in an odd winter glow,
When what did my wondering eyes chance to see
But a guy in a Santa suit stopping to pee.
His eyes darted ’round so bloodshot and quick
He was either on drugs or incredibly sick.
His deeds made me think of a tinkling bell,
And when he was finished I heard the guy yell:
“From Dasher to Blitzen I sold all my deer.
They’re now venison steaks marinating in beer,
And my wonderful elves, I downsized them all.
Here’s hoping they’ll find some work at the mall.”
He spit on the ground and zipped up his fly
And then wearily leapt 30 feet in the sky.
So up to our housetop the drunk old man flew,
And I noticed some dog poop was stuck to his shoe.
Just then, in a twinkling, I heard him alight
With a sound so alarming it gave me a fright.
As I checked to see mama was still safe in bed
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came on his head.
He was dressed in an old coat all tattered and frayed
With a silly red hat that his wife must have made.
His pocket contained a tarnished steel flask,
And he took a large swig to prepare for his task.
His teeth were all yellow, his dimples were buried
In the sagging jowls that his poor visage carried.
His sad little mouth twisted into a frown
As, wheezing and coughing, he sat himself down.
He sparked up a joint that he held in his lips,
And my La-Z-Boy sagged ‘neath the weight of his hips.
“Oh Santa,” I cried, as I stared at his belly,
“How’d your gut get so big and your garments so smelly?
I remember you as a jolly old elf,
Now I retch when I see you in spite of myself.”
He gave me a wink and then nodded his head.
“Things are tough at the North Pole too,” St. Nick said.
“No one has need of my fine elfin work,
And some broad at your neighbor’s house called me a jerk.
Then her husband got mad and punched me in the nose.
They sicced their dog on me. He ripped up my clothes.”
I found myself moved by his tale of woe,
So I gave him some new clothes and asked him to go,
But as he wandered away I heard Santa cheer:
“Merry Christmas. Let’s hope things are better next year.”
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