‘Twas the Night Before Christmas, and All Through Atlanta


‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through Atlanta,
Not a creature was shooting, or sleigh-jacking Santa;
The stockings were hung near the faux mantlepiece,
In hopes that new iPhones soon be released;
The children were fighting o’er Frozen somehow,
While visions of candy canes danced in their brows;
Mama’n her yoga pants, an’ I in my briefs,
Had just turned off iPads and settled for sleep;
When out in the alley there rose such a ruckus,
I thought surely Putin had sent murd’rous Russians;
Away from the window I flew like a coward,
Pulled my lady on top of me, hid in the shower;
The moon streaming in through blinds that need cleaning,
Was then blocked by some crazy thing I was seeing;
Then what to my wondering ass did appear,
But a Mini Cooper that seemed unable to steer;
With a little old driver so boist’rous and live,
I knew in a moment he’s too drunk to drive;
So rapid and dang’rous his Cooper it came,
He whistled and selfied and tweeted his name;
“Sup fools? It’s Santa. I brought that ass gifts,
Now retweet and fav’rite and like all my shit;
To the top of the Reddit! To the list of the trending,
Now post away, post away! Share what I’m sending!”
As shop bags that before a strong wind are blown,
So did his car fly over my home;
Up o’er the housetop, somehow his car flew,
With back seat full of toys, a drunk madman too–
And then, after tweeting, I heard on the roof,
Him parking, and setting ‘mergency brake too;
As I climbed out from under my lady, she spoke,
“How’d you spell ‘Wondrous?’ Need it for my post.”
Before I could answer, heard from the den,
A crash and a falling as someone broke in;
He was dressed all in sweats, from his head to his toe,
And his clothes looked like they’d last been washed long ago;
A man purse of gift cards was slung by his side,
And he looked like he burgled then did homicide;
His eyes–how they darted! His dimples, how evil!
His cheeks they were pallid, his nose a gross beetle;
His terrible tweets were quite without merit,
Most just begged everyone reading to share it;
A small burning pipe poked out of his beard,
“Hey buddy,” I said, “You can’t smoke in here;”
“Don’t worry,” he chuckled. “I’m Santa Claus, bro,”
Like he’s famous, or some person that I should know;
He selfie’d again, said “My office today,”
Put gift cards in stockings, turned with a sashay;
And laying a finger inside of his nose,
Like I wasn’t right there, upwards he rose;
He sprang to his Mini, still dang’rously drunk,
Revved the engine once and found first with a clunk;
But I read his next post, ‘ere he careened out of sight,
“Merry Christmas To All, And To All a Good Night”