T'was The Night Before Christmas.

Poem written by Rob Kosy on Tuesday 30, December 2015

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A skewed take on the famous poem, T'was The Night Before Christmas. Which in Turn is a kind of follow up to a story I wrote for my daughter entitled Abbey and The Christmas Worry Goo, when she was little. She's older now and stupidly intelligent, funny and has inherited my sarcasm bone. So I wrote this for her this year. I hope you laugh as much as she did.

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T'was The Night Before Christmas.
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the home not a thing was stirring, not even mam's phone. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there. The world's children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of I-phones danced in their heads. And mam in her onesie and dad in his slippers, were watching a documentary about Santa and kippers. Santa and kippers? What a curious show, when, suddenly, I heard a ruckus out in the snow. So, away to the window I flew like shot, and stared in wonder at the surprise I got. The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow, gave the appearance of midday to objects below. When what to my wondering eyes should I spy, but a battered old fish van dropping out of the sky. With a jolly old driver, so portly and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St Nick. And seated beside him, a young girl dressed the same, and as the van dropped to earth, he called her by name. 'Abbey,' he chuckled, though I failed to see the joke, 'I'm afraid to say, I think this fish van is broke.' 'Its ran out of petrol,' replied the bonny, young lass, 'and if we weren't about to crash, I'd kick your jolly ass.' Down and down the van it did drop, so sure was I it was unable to stop. When suddenly to my amazement (though surely I was mistaken), came ten galloping reindeer to save their bacon. 'Yay!' cried, Abbey, as St Nicholas did the same. Then he whistled and shouted and called them by name: 'Now Dasher! Now Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen! On Comet! On Cupid! On Donner and Blitzen! 'What about the last two?' Abbey asked at the time, (but Rudolph and Dave just didn't fit the rhyme). And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof, the prancing and pawing of each reindeer hoof. As I drew in my breath and was scratching my knee, St Nick fell down the chimney, in desperate need of a pee. He was dressed all in fur and clutching centre wicket, 'Can I use your lav?' he asked, 'That would be just the ticket.' 'Okay!' Abbey said, 'But be quiet as a mouse, so as not to wake mam and dad. remember this is my house.' As St Nick had a whiz, Abbey spied me on the rug, she smiled, picked me up and gave me a finger hug. 'My folks would go mad,' she said, 'If they saw you in the house. They say its too small for a pet; even a pet mouse.' Then with a stagger and a retch, St Nick stumbled in. White was his pallor, gone was his grin. 'Your toilet stinks,' he said, his eyes filed with dread, which is always the case when dad has a crap before bed. Abbey put me down and I paid closer attention, St Nick was in a right state, I think it's fair to mention. A sack of presents stood beside him, as tall as his hips. He looked just like a tramp with a giant back of chips. His eyes how they watered, his dimples so big! His cheeks hung like tripe, his nostrils like a pig! His sagging little mouth drew down like a bow, (But that happens to everyone who follows dad to the loo, though). He said not a word before he was violently sick, And it sprayed between his fingers, poor old St Nick. And as the Christmas lights made diamonds of the vomit in mid-air, The sound of a roaring monster came rampaging from the stair. The jolly old codger turned whiter than snow, And I knew in an instant he was desperate to go. Because the monster was coming, gouging and goring, but Abbey simply chuckled, it was only mam snoring. But before she could tell him, thunder ripped through the night, And St Nick clutched his chest in yet more Christmas Eve fright. After thunder comes lightning, so to the window he did dart, But the sky held only snow (the thunder was only dad's fart). 'What a terrible place,' said St Nick, holding a hand to his brow, 'Thank you for saving Christmas again. But I think I'd like to go now.' As Abbey burst into laughter, she explained what was really the score. The thunder was dad's flatulence and the monster was just mam's snore. And as the two of them shared a chuckle, he waved a hand, And the room filled with presents, so fine and grand. 'Thank you, Abbey,' St Nick said, 'you've granted my Christmas wish. I'd much rather be here with you than delivering smelly fish.' Then, laying his finger aside of his nose, With a nod and a wink, up the chimney he rose. And from the window we watched him as he drove out of sight, 'I much prefer my sleigh," he called, 'This fish van is a right load of sh-.........inconvenience!'
A very merry Christmas to one and all.

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    A tickler if ever I heard. Your wit has only fermented with age... wait that didn't sound quite right. Oh H'll it was good as always sir K of Osy. LOL
    Pirate said it: ferment. You must have been at the 'nog too long. Great piece of wit, my man.
    @ Don Grin It's a talent.
    Thanks chaps. it's great to be back, though for how long I don't know. back to work on Monday.
    Merry noo yea, my friends.
    lol Very, very funny!
    Mr. Kosy, the comic relief on the Den. Always a fan of what you do.
    I do Naked long jump, carpet sculpture and pubic braiding.

    Great to hear from you again, Hatter.
    Can't believe i'm just now reading this. This was awesome!