Advertisements

‘Twas the Night Before Christmas: College Edition

24 Dec

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the school

Not a creature was stirring, not even that one engineer who I fucking swear just lives in the library

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that weed would finally be put in there.

The 20-somethings were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of Fireball danced in their heads.

And mamma in her sweater, and I in my tank,

Had just settled our brains from a long winter’s drank.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I fell off my bed to check what was the matter.

Away to the window I waddled and stumbled,

“Hey, what the fuck’s that?” I aggressively mumbled.

The moon on the breast (HA. Like boob.) of the new-fallen snow

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.

When, what to my glazed-over eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and holy shit are those reindeer?

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.

More rapid than freshmen running to class,

He whistled, and called, and shouted without any mind to the fact that SOME PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO SLEEP HERE. Ass.

“On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!

Over to the window! And now to the wall!

Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”

Like a regrettable hook-up walking up the road

Away they darted, no mind was showed.

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,

With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I pulled my face up from my Snapchat,

Down came Santa – APPARENTLY he can just do that.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his toe

Looking like Lady Gaga, at a VMA show.

A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! His dimples red as a cherry!

His cheeks were like roses, like that drunk Asian girl Mary.

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin pure white – I think he’d done blow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it circled from his bowl full of kief.

He chuckled and laughed in a quite blissful mood

Then held out his pipe and exclaimed, “hit this, duuuuuude!”

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I frowned when I saw him, and said “you should really try to exercise; being that overweight can lead to high cholesterol, adult onset type 2 diabetes, or, at worst, heart failure; I can actually link you to a great article online about simple ways to improve heart health, if you’re interested?  But whatever, no pressure, I don’t want to tell you how to live your life.  Just something to consider I guess.  I only say because, you know, my Grandfather suffered from heart problems for most of his life.  And he was like you, you know.  Always pretty overweight.  Happy as can be, but, you know, sometimes a good disposition can’t get you everything.  I just miss him.  It’s hard.  I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have to bore you with all of this.  Just, please, sit down.  Do you want something to drink?  I have eggnog, or maybe some coffee?  It’s a long night for you, I’m sure.  Or even a little snack.  Help yourself to those cookies.  They’re for you…no they’re not gluten free…You’re what?…Oh…I’m sorry, I didn’t know. What exactly is gluten?…Ah, gotcha.  Well, um…we have some Cheerios, if you want…oh…ok, yeah sure.  No problem.  Help yourself.

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me reason to think I had something to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings, then started to twerk.

As he dropped his ass right down to the floor,

I knew right then he was a ho ho ho ho.

He sprang to his sleigh, after my grandpa gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a Klondike®!”

Merry Christmas, fuckers.

Merry Christmas, fuckers.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: