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'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 labour 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 with 4 pigs, and you know that looked stupid!



The runners had been removed from his sleigh;

The ruts were termed dangerous by the C.A.A.

And people had started to call for 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:

Rudolf was suing over unauthorized use of his nose.



So, half of the reindeer were gone; and his wife,

Who suddenly said she'd 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 never 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. Or 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 tooth.

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.



Dolls were said to be sexist, and should be passé;

And Nintendo would rot your entire brain away.

So Santa just stood there, dishevelled, 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."

T'was the night before Christmas and all through the kitchen;

I was cooking and baking and moanin and bitchin.

I've been here for hours, I can't stop to rest.

This room's a disaster, just look at this mess!



Tomorrow I've got thirty people to feed.

They expect all the trimmings. Who cares what I need!

My feet are both blistered, I've got cramps in my legs.

The cat just knocked over a bowl full of eggs.



There's a knock at the door and the telephone's ringing;

frosting drips on the counter as the microwave's dinging.

Two pies in the oven, dessert's almost done;

my cookbook is soiled with butter and crumbs.



I've had all I can stand, I can't take anymore;

Then in walks my husband, spilling rum on the floor.

He weaves and he wobbles, his balance unsteady;

then grins as he chuckles "The eggnog is ready!"

He looks all around and with total regret, says,

"What's taking so long....aren' t you through in here yet?"



As quick as a flash I reach for a knife;

He loses an earlobe; I wanted his life!

He flees from the room in terror and pain

and screams, "MY GOD WOMAN, YOU'RE GOING INSANE!!"



Now what was I doing, and what is that smell?

Oh darn, it's the pies! They're burned all to hell!

I hate to admit when I make a mistake,

but I put them on BROIL instead of on BAKE.



What else can go wrong? Is there still more ahead?

If this is good living, I'd rather be dead.

Lord, don't get me wrong, I love holidays;

It just leaves me exhausted, all shaky and dazed.



But I promise you one thing, If I live 'til next year,

You won't find me pulling my hair out in here.

I'll hire a maid, a cook, and a waiter;

and if that doesn't work, I'LL HAVE IT ALL CATERED!

Your Status: Iconoclast (Level 26)



You have completed 4% of this level.

This is a riot... click below, then press the blue bar to play.

Sound on!!!



I FREAKING DID IT!!! I made a linky. Thanks Cat!!!!





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