Canonical List of 'Twas the Night Before Christmas Variations
Version 2007.1
Part 33 of 50
January 7, 2007

Compiled by: Matthew Monroe

Archived at: http://www.alchemistmatt.com/twas/

Contains 849 versions of the classic poem, including headers from most of the posts and credits when available. The versions range from innocent and cute to vulgar and obscene, so read at your own discretion. I have collected most of these versions by searching the newsgroups using Google Groups and the now retired Deja News. I'd be happy to receive any additional versions you might have.

See the Main Index for the complete contents.

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Short Title: Pinball1

From: David Gersic (dgersic_@_niu.edu)
Subject: An Arcade Visit from St. Nicholas 
Newsgroups: rec.games.pinball
Date: 2001-12-24 23:40:07 PST 

(Originally by Scott Piehler)

The following is presented in the Holiday Spirit. It is an original
spoof by yours truly. Feel free to distribute it to all your pin-head
friends. Just mention my name :)

Of course, if you wish to publish it, please consult with me. This has
previously been published (in a slightly different form) in pinGame journal

   *An Arcade Visit from St. Nicholas*
     (Twas the Day after Christmas)
    by Scott Piehler
    Edited by Jim Schelberg (jim@pingamejournal.com)
    with apologies to Clement Clarke Moore

'Twas the day after Christmas and all through the arcade,
I played at the games pinball companies made.
The machines were lined up by the wall in a row,
I'd played but a few, and had many to go.

The vid-kids were dazed, with eyes glued to the screens,
Each fighting game showing some most violent scenes.
I was content to play the silver ball,
For I'd gotten quite good and for near no cost at all.

When out in the street I heard such a noise,
That I sprang from my game, past those video boys.
Away to the door, I streaked right past Flash,
Tore past Haunted House, and dropped half my cash.

The scene on the street was a sight to behold,
I'd never believed, even though I'd been told,
That after his rounds, giving presents to all,
Santa relaxed some, by playing pinball!

He tied up his team to a close parking meter,
(Being a holiday, there was no need to feed 'er).
He walked to the attendant, with money in hand,
And loudly he chuckled, "Some tokens, good man."

First Cyclone, then Indy, and then to Grand Lizard,
The way he played Addams;  truly a wizard!
Replays and specials and skill shots all made,
As he set the high score on each game that he played!

A crowd gathered 'round as we watched the old elf,
And I drooled as I watched quite in spite of myself.
He played only once, on each pinball game,
But when he was finished, he'd enter his name.

He won credits galore, but left them behind,
For good little players later to find.
Ne'er did he tilt, nor even break sweat,
The most amazing performance that I have seen yet.

The name on the game didn't matter at all,
As he broke every recond, oft' after one ball.
Williams and Bally and Gottleib and Sega,
How he played on that Capcom would surely amaze ya.

His stare was intense at each ball that he played,
And he smiled so wide at each shot that he made.
He'd let loose a chuckle, and flash his white teeth,
His calm under pressure I could hardly believe.

With his pipe in his mouth that his teeth held so tight,
One in the crowd asked, "Do you need a light?"
He answered, "No thanks! For I'm sure that you've seen
The way that the smoke can hurt these machines!"

He finished his round and everyone clapped
As he took a quick bow, and tipped his red cap.
When he noticed the wonder in everyone's eyes,
He turned to us saying, "Don't be surprised ..."

"I'm right there on Taxi, for you all to see,
As that game was planned, they consulted with me.
I've been playing since Ballyhoo and far beyond,
Of this game called pinball, I've always been fond!"

He turned to the door and nodded farewell,
He enjoyed his time playing, that, we could tell.
And we heard him exclaim, as he flew o'er the wall,
"Merry Christmas To Everyone.  Play More Pinball!"

Scott Piehler
Copyright 1995,1996,1997,1998,1999

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Short Title: Pinball2

From: TwoPlays25 (twoplays25@aol.comNOSPAM)
Subject: Xmas Fun 
Newsgroups: rec.games.pinball
Date: 2002-12-25 10:59:08 PST 

Twas the day of Christmas and all through the house,
all the pins were bumping with play from the spouse.
The children were Nestlee'd with too much chocolate quick 
as I explained to my son... IJ was Harrison, not an Aussie named Mick.

With me in my bathrobe and herself in a thong
Everything was great til we heard bong-bong-bong.
In the Theatre of Magic arose such a clatter 
I ran to the gameroom to see what's the matter...

When what to my dadly eyes should appear,
it was my 3 year old daughter racking the score of the year.
Levitate!, tiger saw and vanish that ball
she hit every mode, each and every all.

And then off to the Batman, playing Forever,
gave Goldeneye a beating Bond will always remember.
There was Madness on the Medieval and the kids did enjoy
watching dad score playmates on the 89' Playboy.

With a wink from Dredd and a quick Powerball fight,
Have fun playing pinball and to all a good night.

Scott

ST:NG* MM* ToTan*Playboy35th* IJ*Goldeneye*CV*BatmanForever*JD*
ToM*TZ*WCS*DipseyDoodle & a Rowe/AMI Diplomat Jukebox.
Visit the gameroom at:  www.hometown.aol.com/twoplays25/Homepage1.html


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Short Title: Pinball3

From: Q.Frost (qfrost@yahoo.com)
Subject: A little Xmas cheer from me to you 
Newsgroups: rec.games.pinball
Date: 2003-12-17 11:41:22 PST 

Twas the night before Chirstmas, and all through the den,
there was wall to wall pinballs, no space for a wren.
Backboxes were stacked by the chimney with care,
In hopes for some time, and with luck, some repair.

The playfields were nestled all snug under glass,
While layers of clearcoat promised game play, real fast.
And mamma in her kerchief and I with a beer,
Had just passed out cold from all that holiday cheer.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I lept off the couch, spilling three weeks of cheese platters.
Away to the window, I flew like a Flash,
Moved the cab to Scared Stiff and cranked open the glass.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a luster of Novus to the objects below.
When, what to my mirror-glazed eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight DMD reindeer;
With a pop-bumper driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than ball drains his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and chimed, and called them by name:
Now, Simpsons! now, Embryon! now, IJ! and Addams!
On Comet! on Black Hole! on TZ and Fathom!
To the top of the ramp, to the top of the wall!
Now dash away, dash away, like Stern multiball!

As pinballs across Fireball's spinner do fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With a sleigh full of pins, and St. Nicholas, too.

And then in a twinkle, I heard on the roof,
The banging and knocking as if flippers were loose.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, like Whitewater's Bigfoot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with pindust and soot;
A bundle of repros he had flung on his back,
and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like specials, his nose like a cherry.
His droll little mouth like a small gobble hole,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.
A burnt-out coil he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath.

With a wide-bodied face and a little round belly
That shook, when he laughed, like Earthshaker on jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly pin elf.
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye, holding NOS parts,
Soon gave me to know this man was all heart;

He spoke not a word, but with schematics laid out,
re-soldiered Gorgar, then my ancient BlackOut!
And laying backglasses right under my nose,
He gave a quick nod, up the chimney he rose.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team he made nice,
And away they all flew like a skill shot on ice.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove does and bucks,
Merry Christmas to all; I'm keeping Eight Ball Deluxe!


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Short Title: PoetryComposition

Originally published in:
The Durham Herald-Sun
Sunday, December 24, 2000
Section E, page 2

'Twas the Night Before ...
by Edith Jenkins of Durham

Twas the month before Christmas, when all thru the house
Edith was trying to use her silly ole mouse.
The computer was waiting -- it all seemed so clear.
She pointed and she clicked but no words would appear.

As she drew back her hands and was turning around
Directions upon the screen, they came with a bound.
"Yes" -- "No" -- "Cancel" it said. She almost did cry!
She typed in more lines -- a desperate last try.

Her poem's meter was off; nothing would rhyme.
It seemed as if she had run out of time.
When what to her wondering eyes should appear
But miniature letters -- the words became clear.

She spoke not a work, then turned with a jerk.
She double-clicked PRINT. Hooray, that did work!
With her mouse still in hand she gave the COMMAND
She clicked on SHUT DOWN, and donned her night gown.

She praised her DESKTOP as she
nodded her head.
She gave a quick little smile,
And headed straight for her bed.

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Short Title: PoliceOfficer

From: Someone Who Cares (itdoesntmatter@somewhere.net)
Subject: A Police Officer's Christmas 
Newsgroups: alt.law-enforcement.traffic, alt.law-enforcement
Date: 2002-12-24 23:27:34 PST 

A POLICE OFFICER'S CHRISTMAS

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the streets,
Not a person was stirring, 'cept an officer on the beat.
As he quietly patrolled the town with great care,
children and parents slept peacefully there.

The officer was clad in his blues and his vest,
gun on his hip, always looking his best.
He'd just pulled aside for a quick bite to eat,
When all of a sudden, out on the street,

A bright light appeared from out of nowhere,
He shielded his eyes from the brilliant glare.
'Twas an angel of the Lord at the squad's rear,
He smiled and spoke, "Dear Officer, don't fear."

"I've been sent by God with a message for you
who faithfully serve while wearing the blue.
He wants you to know He loves you all,
He's pleased with the way you've answered His call.

"To protect and serve others, so selfless you've been,
Your bravery and kindness have known no end.
Even in tragedy, when nights became long,
You've helped countless strangers by being strong.

"God sees your heart, the joy and the pain,
He knows the profession can often bring strain.
So he sent me here to let you know,
That as you patrol, He goes where you go.

"As you protect others, your Father protects you,
His angels go with you, His Spirit does, too.
No bullet too fast, no bad guy too strong,
I'm sent to make sure that your life will be long.

"So fear not the night, and fear not the day,
fear not the threats that might come your way.
I'm sent to accompany you on your beat,
There's not one moment you're alone on the street."

The officer sat stunned by the love of His God,
He bowed his head, with a tear gave a nod.
As the officer said thank you, the angel took flight,
"God's got your back, carry on, and goodnight."


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Short Title: PolishSanta

from http://www.spring-tree.com/christmas.html

                   Da Night Before Christmas in Poland
                                      
            'Twas the night before Christmas in my Polish house
             I creep down the stairs just as quiet as a mouse.
                   Da rest of my family, they are asleep
             With visions of mushrooms thru their heads creep.
                                      
               Da work shoes are hung by da chimney with care
             In hopes that St. Stasz will soon fill them there.
                  While over in the corner is silly to see
                Kielbasa and cabbages hanging from the tree.
                                      
         Then there's this big bang and the house starts to shudder
            Some nut lands on da roof and breaks da rain gutter.
             He starts down da chimney, swears cause it's tight
                I hide behind beer cases, way out of sight.
                                      
               He lands in the fireplace, scorching his hair
                On the busted up orange crate burning there.
                He climbs out - I peak - and get a big look
                He's just like da picture in my Polish book.
                                      
            He's got vodka glazed eyes and stomach like a bubble
               A five day beard, there's soot on the stubble.
              And he's lost all da buttons of his old mackinaw
             And he wears the biggest tennis shoes I ever saw.
                                      
                   This Polish Santa; I know without fear
              'Cause he heads for da kitchen and opens a beer.
              When he finished a six pack, he gave a big smirk
                 Reaches in a potato sack and goes to work.
                                      
                     Now under da tree he starts to set
               Da most beautiful presents a Pollack can get.
           There's a new mushroom basket and a shovel for brother
              A bright red bubushka and a pick ax for mother.
                                      
                 I must see him leave, so I rushes outside
                And looks up da roof while in bushes I hide.
                      And what do I see thru da twigs
           But his old wooden garbage cart pulled by eight pigs.
                                      
               Polish Sants jumps in and gives them all hell
          "Come on youse pigs, don't just stand there and smell".
                "On Stella, on Walter, on Stanley, and Joe,
              And all youse others, whose names I don't know."
                                      
                "Fly over da junk yard and over to da right,
                Let's visit all peoples before I get tight."
                  Then I hear him say as he flew over me,
             "I'm the only Pollack that gives things for free."
 


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Short Title: PoliticallyCorrect1

Subject: Season's p.c. poem
Message-ID: <9312181249.A0962wk@backdoor.com>
From: caring@backdoor.com
Date: 18 Dec 93 19:49:50 GMT
Organization: Back Door Comp Svcs Inc
 
                    POLITICALLY CORRECT XMAS
 
(This poem is copyright 1992 by Harvey Ehrlich.  It is free to distribute,
without changes, as long as this notice remains intact).
 
  "Twas the night before Christmas and Santa's a wreck...
  How to live in a world that's politically correct?
  His workers no longer would answer to "Elves" --
  "Vertically challenged" they were calling themselves.
  And labor conditions at the north pole
  Were alleged by the union to stifle the soul.
  Four reindeer had vanished, without much propriety,
  Released to the wilds by the Humane Society.
  And equal employment had made it quite clear
  That Santa had better not use just reindeer.
  So Dancer and Donner, Comet and Cupid,
  Were replaced by 4 pigs, and you know that looked stupid!
  The runners had been removed from his sleigh;
  The ruts were termed dangerous by the E.P.A.
  And people had started to call the cops
  When they heard sled noises on their rooftops.
  Second-hand smoke from his pipe had his workers quite frightened,
  His fur trimmed red suit was called "unenlightened."
  And to show you the strangeness of life's ebbs and flows,
  Rudolph was suing over unauthorized use of his nose
  And had gone on Geraldo, in front of the nation,
  Demanding millions in overdue compensation.
  So, half the reindeer were gone; and his wife,
  Who suddenly said she'd had enough of this life,
  Joined a self-help group, packed, and left in a whiz,
  Demanding from now on her title was "Ms."
  And as for the gifts, why, he'd ne'er had a notion
  That making a choice could cause so much commotion.
  Nothing of leather, nothing of fur,
  Which meant nothing for him.  And nothing for her.
  Nothing that might be construed to pollute,
  Nothing to aim, nothing to shoot.
  Nothing that clamored or made lots of noise,
  Nothing for just girls, nor just for the boys.
  Nothing that claimed to be gender specific,
  Nothing that's warlike or non-pacific.
  No candy or sweets (they were bad for the teeth)
  Nothing that seemed to embellish a truth.
  And fairy tales, while not yet forbidden,
  Were like Ken and Barbie - better off hidden.
  For they raised the hackles of those psychological
  Who claimed the only good gift was one ecological.
  No baseball, no football - someone could get hurt!
  Besides, playing sports exposed kids to dirt.
  Dolls were said to be sexist, and should be passe;
  And Nintendo would rot your entire brain away.
  So Santa just stood there, disheveled, perplexed;
  He just could not figure out what to do next.
  He tried to be merry, tried to be gay,
  But you've got to be careful with that word today.
  His sack was quite empty, limp to the ground;
  Nothing fully acceptable was to be found.
  Something special was needed, a gift that he might
  Give to all without angering the left or the right.
  A gift that would satisfy, with no indecision,
  Each group of people, every religion;
  Every ethnicity, every hue,
  Everyone, everywhere - even you.
  So here is that gift, it's price beyond worth...
  "May you and your loved ones enjoy peace on earth."
 
Hope that you have a Happy Holiday and a '94 filled with health, happiness and
wealth.
 
bob
 

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Short Title: PoliticallyCorrect2

from http://www.ncia.net/users/campbell/old/xmas.html
                                      
                       A Politically Correct Holiday
                                      
      'Twas the night before a Christian holiday, when all through the
                          domestic living quarters
         Not a carbon based life form was moving, not even a rodent
                                      
   Articles of clothing worn on feet were suspended near the wood burning
                         exhaust port with caution
       In hopes that religious leader Nicholas soon would visit them
                                      
    The juveniles were in a state of slumber while having subconscience
               illusions of presweetened fruit in their minds
         And mother in her kerchief and I in my head heat sustainer
         Had just rested our brains for a prolonged seasonal snooze
                                      
   When out on our possession of turf there arose such an oversized noise
               I bolted from my place of rest to investigate
                                      
      Away to the transparent section of wall I rushed like a burst of
                                  photons
   Quickly opened the window security devices and propelled cloth out of
                             my field of vision
                                      
    The solar light reflecting off the lunar landscape and ground-based
                               precipitation
           Illuminated matter below my viewpoint causing a glint.
                                      
           When what to my photon sensors should become apparent
            But a diminutive sky vehicle and eight dwarfish deer
                                      
       With a vertically impaired elder driver so energetic and quick
        I recognized in little time it must be religious leader Nick
                                      
        At a greater speed than birds of prey his coursers they came
       And he whistled and made noise as he called them their titles
                                      
              "Now Dasher! Now Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen!
                On Comit! On Cupid! On Donder and Blitzen!"
                                      
              To the upper most deck! To the upper most wall!
                  Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!
                                      
         As arid plant segments that before a wild air movement fly
       When they meet with an obstruction escalate to the atmosphere
                                      
    So up to the apex of the domestic living quarters his coursers they
                                    flew
    With the sky vehicle full of toys and religious leader Nicholas too
                                      
    And then in little time I heard on the summit of the domestic living
                                  quarters
                 The prancing and pawing of each minor hoof
                                      
             As I pictured in my mind and was revolving around
     Down the exhaust port religious leader Nicholas came with a thump
                                      
               He was clothed in pelts from his apex to base
            And his apparel was discolored with cinders and soot
                                      
           A package of toys he had slung on his upper posterior
            And he appeared to be a vendor opening his rucksack
                                      
      His photon sensors, how they sparkled! His indents, how festive!
         His cheeks were like crimsons, his proboscis like a cherry
                                      
              His comical petite mouth was drawn up like a bow
       And the whiskers upon his chin were as bright as the seasonal
                               precipitation
                                      
               The stump of a pipe he held fast in his teeth
              And the smoke it encircled his apex like a crown
                                      
          He had an extensive face and a limited spherical abdomen
         That quivered when he chuckled like a bowl full of gelatin
                                      
               He was horizontally gifted, a gleeful old elf
          And I giggled when he came into view in spite of myself
                                      
         A blink of his photon sensor and a revolution of his apex
                  Led me to believe I had nothing to fear
                                      
        He verbalized not a sound instead went straight to his labor
                And loaded the socks then revolved suddenly
                                      
                    And putting his digit aside his nose
              And giving a nod up the exhaust port he ascended
                                      
           He leapt to his sky vehicle to his team gave a whistle
            And away they all darted like the down of a thistle
                                      
            But I heard him cry out ere he mobilized his sleigh
                Happy Holiday to all and to all a good day!
                                      
                            1997 Elliot Campbell

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Short Title: PoliticallyCorrect3

                   Twas the Night before Solstice

 Twas the night before solstice and all through the co-op
 Not a creature was messing the calm status quo up.

 The children all nestled all snug in the their beds,
 Dreaming of lentils and warm whole-grain breads.

 We'd welcomed the winter that day after school
 By dancing and drumming and burning the Yule,

 A more meaningful gesture to honor the planet
 Than buying more trinkets for Mom or Aunt Janet,

 Or choosing a tree just to murder and stump it
 And dress it all up like a seasonal strumpet.

 My lifemate and I, having turned down the heat,
 Slipped under the covers for a well-deserved sleep,

 When from out on the lawn there came such a roar
 I fell from my futon and rolled to the floor.

 I crawled to the window and pulled back the latch,
 And muttered, "Aw, where is that Neighborhood Watch?"

 I saw there below through the murk of the night
 A sleigh and eight reindeer of nonstandard height.

 At the reins of that sleigh sat a mean-hearted knave
 Who treated each deer like his persunal slave.

 I'd seen him before in some ads for car loans,
 Plus fast food and soft drinks and cellular phones.

 He must have cashed in from his mercantile chores,
 Since self-satisfaction just oozed from his pores.

 He called each by name, as if he were right
 To treat them like humans, entrenching his might:

 "Now Donner, now Blitzen," and other such aliases,
 Showing his true Eurocentrical biases.

 With a snap of his fingers, away they all flew,
 Like lumberjacks served up a plate of tofu.

 Up to the rooftop they carried the sleigh
 (The holes in the shingles are there to this day).

 Out bounded the man, who went straight to the flue.
 I knew in an instant just what I should do.

 After donning my slippers, downstairs did I dash
 To see the trespasser emerge from the ash.

 His clothes were all covered with soot, but of course,
 From our wood-fueled alternative energy source.

 Through the grime I distinguished the make of his duds --
 He was dressed all in fur, fairly dripping with blood.

 "We're a cruelty-free house!" I proclaimed with such heat
 He was startled and tripped on the logs at his feet.

 He stood back up dazed, but with mirth in his eyes.
 It was then that I noticed his unhealthy size.

 He was almost as wide as when standing erect,
 A lover of fatty fried foods, I suspect.

 But that wasn't all to make sane persuns choke:
 In his teeth sat a pipe that was belching out smoke!

 I could scarcely believe what invaded our house.
 This carcinogenic and overweight louse

 Was so red in the face from his energy spent,
 I expected a heart attack right there and then.

 Behind him he toted a red velvet bag
 Full to exploding with sinister swag.

 He asked, "Where is your tree?" with a face somewhat long.
 I said, "Out in the yard, which is where it belongs."

 "But where will I put all the presents I've brought?"
 I looked at him squarely and said, "Take the lot

 To some frivolous people who think that they need
 To succumb to the sickness of commerce and greed,

 "Whose only joy comes from the act of consuming,
 Thus sending the stock of the retailers booming."

 He blinked and said, "Ho, ho, ho!  But you're kidding."
 I gave him a stare that was stern and forbidding.

 "Surely the children need something with which to have fun?
 It's like childhood's over before it's begun."

 He looked in my eyes for some sign of assent,
 But I strengthened my will and refused to relent.

 "They have plenty of fun," I cut to the gist,
 "And your mindless distractions have never been missed.

 They take CPR so that they can save lives,
 And go door-to-door for the used clothing drives.

 "They recycle, renew, reuse -- and reveal
 For saving the planet a laudable zeal.

 When they padlock themselves to a fence to protest
 Against nuclear power, we think they're the best."

 He said, "But they're children -- lo, when do they play?"
 I countered, "Is that why you've driven your sleigh,

 To bring joy to the hearts of each child and tot?
 All right, open your bag; let's see what you've got."

 He sheepishly did as I'd asked and behold!
 A Malibu Barbie in a skirt made of gold.

 "You think that my girls will like playing with this,
 An icon of sexist, consumerist kitsch?

 "With it's unnatural and airheaded grin,
 This trollop makes every girl yearn to be thin,

 And take up fad diets and binging and purging
 Instead of respecting her own body's urging

 "To welcome the shape that her body has found
 And rejoice to be lanky, short, skinny, or round."

 Deep in his satchel he searched for a toy,
 Saying, "This is a hit with most little boys."

 And what did he put in my trembling hand
 But a gun from the BrainBlasters Power Command!

 "It's a 'hit,' to be sure," I sneered in his face,
 "And a plague to infect the whole human race!

 "How 'bout grenades or some working bazookas
 To turn all of our kids into half-wit palookas?"

 I seized on his bag just to see for myself
 The filth being spread by this odious elf.

 An Easy-Bake Oven -- ah, goddess, what perfidy!
 To hoodwink young girls into household captivity!

 Plus an archery play set with shafts that fly out,
 The very thing needed to put your eye out.

 And toy metal tractors, steam shovels, and cranes
 For tearing down woodlands and scarring the plains,

 Plus "games" like Monopoly, Pay Day, Tycoon,
 As if lessons in greed can't start up too soon.

 And even more weapons from BrainBlasters Co.,
 Like cannons and nunchucks and ray guns that glow.

 That's all I could find in his red velvet sack --
 Perverseness and mayhem to set us all back.

 (But I did find one book that caused me to ponder --
 Some fine bedtime tales by a fellow named Garner.)

 "We need none of this," I announced in a huff,
 "No 'business-as-usual' holiday stuff.

 "We sow in our offspring more virtue than this.
 Your 'toys' offer some things they never will miss."

 The big man's expression was a trifle bereaved
 As he shouldered his pack and got ready to leave.

 "I pity the kids who grow up around here,
 Who're never permitted to be of good cheer,

 Who aren't allowed leisure for leisure's own sake,
 But must fret every minute -- it makes my heart break!"

 "Enough histrionics!  Don't pity our kids
 If they don't do as Macy's or Toys 'R' Us bids.

 They live by their principles first and foremost
 And know what's important," to him did I boast.

 "Pray, could I meet them?" "Oh no, they're not here.
 They're up on the roof, liberating your deer!"

 Then Santa Claus sputtered and pointed his finger
 But, mad as he was, he had no time to linger.

 He flew up the chimney like smoke from a fire,
 And up on the roof I heard voices get higher.

 I ran outside the co-op to see him react
 To my children's responsible, kindhearted act.

 He chased them away, and disheartened, dismayed,
 He rehitched his reindeer (who'd docilely stayed).

 I watched with delight as he scooted off then.
 He'd be too embarrassed to come back again.

 But with parting disdain, do you know what he said,
 When this overweight huckster took off in his sled?

 This reindeer enslaver, this exploiter of elves?
 "Happy Christmas to all, but get over yourselves!!"


 from "Politically Correct Holiday Stories" by James Finn Garner
     Macmillan, 1995
 

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Short Title: PoliticallyCorrect4

from http://www.townhall.com/columnists/johnleo/jl20021223.shtml

Merry C*********S to all!
 by John Leo at TownHall.Com
 December 23, 2002

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
There was Santa again, on his annual journeys,
Ensnared in a group of eight tiny attorneys.

They looked pretty grim and they threatened to sue,
So we knew in a flash -- "It's the ACLU!"
They paid us no heed, but went straight to their work,
Handcuffing poor Santa, then said with a smirk:

"This is secular airspace, we can't have a saint
"Flying our flightpaths -- we need some restraint.
"A sleigh full of toys is OK, we suppose,
"But faith-based incursions we've got to oppose." (1)

Litigation on Christmas is something we dread,
So we nestled our children all under their beds
The grinch doesn't scare them, and Scrooge they see through,
But what kids are prepared for the ACLU?

The reindeer were shackled as a further incitement,
Then the lawyers unpackaged a 12-count indictment.
"Merry Christmas to all!" they just had to foreclose
(Though they had no complaint about all the "Ho Hos").

One lawyer objected to Santa's red clothing.
"It's religiously tainted," he said with some loathing.
"Poinsettias (the red ones) everybody must note, are
"A church-state offense in St. Paul, Minnesota!" (2)

Santa's climb up each chimney (one lawyer made mention)
Is a symbolic reference to Jesus' ascension.
And the reindeer, of course, recall the Apostles,
And those who deny it are nothing but fossils.

These lawyers had labored at neighborhood schools,
Making Christmas extinct there as part of the rules.
Praise Kwaanza or Ramadan -- they think it's quite splendid,
But say "Merry Christmas" and you might get suspended.

Our children, God bless them, don't get or recall
Why "inclusiveness" doesn't include them at all,
Why diversity theory (as the lawyers insist) must
Require the annual quashing of Christmas.

In Canada, home of post-everything living,
Now "The 12 Days of Christmas" are "The 12 Days of Giving." (3)
Christmas trees aren't part of their season at all,
They buy "multicultural trees" at the mall.

At a hospital (Catholic) the staff is ashamed (4)
To use the word Christmas, so their tree is misnamed
As a "care tree," though some would prefer "tree of life."
(Why not "tall lit-up flora" to avoid any strife?) (5)

Australians are told they should have no compunctions
Calling parties at Christmastime "end-of-year functions." (6)
The idea is to make Christmas somehow unmentionable,
A tactic I think of as wholly contemptionable.

Instead of "White Christmas" they will probably sing,
"I'm dreaming of a snow day some time in pre-spring."
Here's my suggestion, a harsh one I fear,
Why not call Christmas "Christmas"? (It's just an idea.)

Merry Christmas, everyone!

----
Notes on the poem

(1) "Somewhere Santa Claus is weeping. But if he's on public property, I hope the ACLU doesn't get him for trespassing." -- Bill O'Reilly's column of Dec. 7, 2002.

(2) Not this year, though. In St. Paul, red poinsettias were banned last Christmas at Ramsey County Courthouse-City Hall to placate sensitive people who believe they are Christian symbols. White poinsettias were allowed, but unknown and insensitive people smuggled in a few red ones. This year, red poinsettias were restored in the display.

(3) The Royal Canadian Mint made this change in its annual Christmas ad campaign. The Rev. Nancy Murphy, an Anglican priest in Ottawa, said: "You know that campaign for women to take back the night? Well, Christians, take back Christmas." Gerry Bowler, a history professor at the University of Manitoba, says "the umbrage industry" and militant secularism are eliminating Christmas from public institutions.

(4) In Winnipeg, Misericordia (Catholic) Hospital erected a "care tree" and sponsored a Christmas fund-raising campaign that did not use the word "Christmas."

(5) In Montreal last December, a "tree of life" was stationed at City Hall. This year many Christmas trees are placed there. "If you're going to do it, call it what it is -- a Christmas tree," said a spokesman for Mayor Gerald Tremblay. A similar change occurred in Toronto: City Hall switched from a "holiday tree" to a Christmas tree.

(6) Stuart Kollmorgen, workplace relations partner at Deacons law firm in Melbourne, said many firms are calling Christmas parties "end-of-year functions" to avoid litigation and because "a more accepting and inclusive society will result."

 2002 Universal Press Syndicate


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Short Title: Politics01

Originally published in:
The Durham Herald-Sun
Sunday, December 24, 2000
Section E, page 2

'Twas the Night Before ...
by Jane Heaton-Sides of Creedmoor

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the White House
A winter storm silenced each Microsoft mouse.
The ice was so heavy, the power lines froze;
The temperature fell numbing fingers and toes.

The gadgets and gizmos concealed in the walls
Stopped watching and guarding the chambers and halls.
Anxiety bubbled the troubled at heart
And crowded their craniums right from the start.

Fully half of the staff tried to call 911
But the phone lines were down, so they left it undone.
The candles were lit by the Family First,
In hopes that this outage would not be their worst.

Some parties kept partyin' upstairs and down,
In thick-carpeted rooms fit to muffle the sound.
But the making of merry grew more of a chore-
Their holiday spirits wafted right out the door.

The fire logs piled in bricked places for flame
Found no spark of electric ignition to name.
Some guests snuggled into new downy-soft quilts
Handcrafted by seamsters with partisan tilts.

The servants were weary from serving all eve,
But they knew no excuse would permit them to leave,
So they grouped in the pantry with kerosene heat,
And sat around munching on everything sweet.

The cat in the kitchen lost one of its lives...
(The hors d'oeuvres, abandoned, were next to the knives.)
The Service in Secret untended its Chief,
And prayed the occasion would prove to be brief.

This occurrence occurring so out of control
Scared the wits from the nits in the depths of each souL
So with flashlights and fumbling fingers, in haste,
And with nary a moment of mumbling to waste,

They chained and secured every possible spot,
And pretended to have peace and safety a lot.
Then into this House elementally humbled,
From chaos and darkness, a miracle tumbled...

(Whatever, you ask, could so boldly invade
Such a scene, such a space, barred by such barricade?)
The roof, quite a sturdy and steady design,
Just vanished above them without a fine line...

Then a Light (more than that of a star in the sky)
Shone and flickered with life, like a candle held high,
And it grew, and it filled every cranny and nook,
And it lightened and warmed every butler and cook.

It straightaway startled the young and the old,
The humble, the mighty, the gentle, the bold;
And in awe, every jaw of each person just dropped,
Then they fell to their knees, and their worryin' stopped.

With carols of witness, angel choirs did descend,
Singing, "Glory to God in the Highest, Amen."
The Dems and the Reps and the Mods and the Dents
(All sorts and descriptions of ladies and gents)

Looked up, and considered this concert so dear,
With hearts reconciling things distant and near.
The angels stood firmly with melody new
Some voices leaned left, and some right it was true.

With wings so diverse in performance and size,
Together they colored quite a sight for sore eyes.
And before they completed their musical mission,
Folks received new corrected political vision

As the angels ascended, it dawned upon all,
That the harmony needed, from Heaven must fall.
And all the news media are unaware still
Of the story that evening near Capitol Hill.

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Short Title: Politics02

                             Government Shutdown

"Twas the week before Christmas and those sly little elves,
Our congressmen, labored to better themselves.
They cared not a whit what the public might think
"Let them eat cake," some said with a wink.
And putting their thumbs to the tip of their nose,
they waved as they shouted "Anything goes!"
They scoffed at the thought that we might object,
to a tax cut for the wealthy of a posh percent.
They've got prerequisites-franking, per diem, and more --
bargain-priced haircuts and gyms (three of four!)
Paid speaking engagements and meals on the cuff,
celebrity status - (they've sure got it tough!),
Yet they claim they're in touch with the man on the street,
as John Q. Public struggles to make both ends meet.

If all workers decided what they were due,
they'd be getting those fat paychecks too!
But while we take cutbacks or raises quite small,
and one out of 20 has no job at all,
our millionaire Congress decides on the budget
land trimming Medicare and Medicaid will do it, they say.
In this season for giving, our Congress is taking.
We've had it with them and our backs are breaking.
With hard times, disasters, and layoffs on our dockets,
we bit the bullet and they fill their pockets!

Oh jobless, oh homeless, oh desperate and needy -
dare anyone say our Congress is greedy?
If in this feeling I'm not alone,
take up your pen or pick up your phone.
As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,
let the road of your anger mount to the sky.
Indignant, outraged, appalled and beset
let your congressman know that you won't forget!@
When election times comes - and certain it will -
you're voting him out for passing that bill.

More rapid than eagles, their elections assured
they toasted each other and laughed at the herd.
And I heard them exclaim with adjournment at hand,

"Merry Christmas to us, and the public (and Federal workers) be
damned!

 

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Short Title: Politics1994


            * 'Twas the Newt Before Christmas *
                    by Dean Bakopoulos

'Twas the night before Christmas and throughout the White House
Al Gore was eyeing Hillary, peering into her blouse.
The Secret Service men were guarding the premises with care,
for a whole host of Democrats were vacationing there.

Chelsea was nestled all snug in her bed
after locking out Mr. Kennedy and the dirty thoughts in his head.
And Bill in his sportcoat; a heavy grey tweed,
had just fried his brain with some Mexican weed.

When out in the garden came a plethora of noise,
all drunken and rowdy: 'twas Gingrich and the boys!
Bill jumped to the window, and tore open the sash,
"It's a raid boys!" he cried, "Quick, go hide my stash!"

The pot in his blood and the moon on the snow
gave a psychedelic haze to the objects below.
When what to Bill's frantic eyes should appear,
but a slew of Republicans and a keg of ice beer,

with a big old leader, all lively and fat;
He knew it was Newt, "Proponent of GATT!"
As vicious as vipers, the Republicans came,
and Bill recognized them and called them by name.

"Hey Helms! Hey Thurmond! Hey Packwood and Hatch!
Hey Dole and Pataki, it's time for a bash!"
A collective cheer rose out from the crowd,
"Let's listen to Nugent, and turn it up loud!"

Together Dems and Rebublicans danced and sang out in cheer,
"Screw Health Care and Haiti, it's time to drink beer!"
When from the chimney, came a blinding black cloud of soot,
and Limbaugh danced from the fireplace in a red Santa suit.

He moved through the crowd, then held up his hand
and when all was silent, he did a keg stand.
And the crowd raised their cups, as Newt bowed down in prayer,
and champagne flowed freely, just like welfare.

As Kennedy and Reno romped in the Green Room,
the rest of the crooks outlined their Hidden Agenda of Doom:
"We'll pray in schools, we'll shove it down their throats!"
"More welfare, more taxes, we'll still get the votes!"

And they drank, hugged, and danced, they crossed party lines,
and they cheered, "It doesn't matter, we're all bastard swines!"
So they threw out allegiance and partisan crap
and took turns sitting on the president's lap.

And Gephardt and Dole passed out on the lawn,
and awoke in the morning without their pants on.
And Packwood gave Tipper a pat on the rear,
while Judge Thomas and Miss Hill went out for more beer.

Then the party-goers discovered a sight so touching and cute,
President Clinton fast asleep, snuggled up next to Newt.
Santa Limbaugh smiled and threw up on his boots,
"A Merry Clinton to all, and to all a good Newt!"

_______________________
Copyright 1994, by The Michigan Review, Inc.
All Rights Reserved

Written by Dean Bakopoulos, University of Michigan
Typed laboriously by Ryan Posly, University of Michigan
Thanks to Gregory Parker, University of Michigan


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Short Title: Politics1997

Subject:      'Twas The Night Before Christmas
From:         "Doris" 
Date:         1997/12/23
Message-ID:   <67ohag$ikf@bgtnsc02.worldnet.att.net>
Newsgroups:   nyc.general


"Twas the night before Christmas,
And all thorugh the land
Not a liberal was standing,
Neither woman nor man.

Stockings were strung
By the chimneys with care,
In hopes that Newt Gingrich
Soon would be there.

Republicans nestled,
All snug in their beds,
While capital gains
Danced in their heads.

They had talked with the rich
Well into the night,
Drafting a contract
Far to the right.

Ma in her kerchief
And Pa in his cap,
Are just welfare loafers
Who need to be zapped.

In fact, those poor kids,
Dreaming sugarplums fine,
Are orphanage bound
'Cause they're way out of line.

A balanced budget amendment
We'll pass in a flash,
With nary a hint
Where we'll find the cash.

We'll term-limit Santa,
A big spender, for sure,
Unless he cuts gifts
To the working-class poor.

But our Pentagon friends
Can dreams all they like,
Their stockings are stuffed
With arms for a strike!

And Old Mrs. Claus
Should remain in her place,
No policy ventures--
just cookies to bake.

Out on the roof
That clatter you hear
Are illegal immigrants
Who shouldn't be here.

We'll cut off their children
From health care and schools
And show them their journey's
A venture for fools.

Where elves have been stealing--
Three strikes and they're out!
Jail 'em or fry 'em,
They'll know we've got clout!

The enviorment's fine,
The movement's a fake.
Who cares if the reindeer
Are poisoned or safe?

Regulations must go,
Big government's out!
So chimney inspections
Are highly in doubt.

Stop foreign aid,
The U.N.'s a scam.
No Christmas sleigh stops
In an lien land!

On Helms! On D'Amato!
On Armey and Gingrich!
Republican forces
Will soon make us rich.

Tax breaks for the wealthy,
High rates for the banks,
When '98 comes
We'll be 'round for their thanks.

The New Deal is over.
Down with the poor!
We can't afford Rudolph,
Show him the door.

--------------------------------
Maureen Fiedler, co-director of Quixote Center
The Quixote Center
POB 5206
Hyatteville, MD 20782-0206

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Matthew Monroe in Richland, WA

Last Modified January 7, 2007