'Twas the night before Christmas in Cap Corporation,

Not a creature was stirring for fear of ruination;

Those silly red socks were hung by the fire,

In hopes that a fat man soon would transpire.


The kids, Trunks and Bra, were snug in their beds,

While visions of presents danced in their heads;

My Bulma, a vision, was sprawled out on our sheets,

As I swelled above her in a set of repeats;


But what's that? A sound! There was something amok;

So I sprang from our bed to see what the fuck.

I dashed to the window and gathered my ki,

When out on the lawn, what the hell did I see?


The moon shone down on the new-fallen snow,

Aiding my effort to see all below,

And what to my suspicious eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,


With an old fat driver who kept up his banter;

I could hardly believe that this guy was Santa!

A folk-tale he was — so my wife had explained,

Yet this living myth called to each deer by name;


"Now, DASHER! now, DANCER! now, PRANCER and VIXEN!

On, COMET! on CUPID! on, DONER and BLITZEN!"

As fast as a saibaman chasing its prey,

He flew to my house-top, eight deer and his sleigh.


In the next moment, I heard each little hoof;

That bastard had landed his sleigh on my roof!

Honed into his ki, I dashed off through the house,

Determined to safeguard my children and spouse.


When suddenly there! By our yule tree he stood,

Dressed all in red, from his feet to his hood,

With a sack on his back, and a dimpling grin,

And a fluffy white beard on his square chiseled chin.


I steeled my resolve and lifted my arm,

Incase our 'dear' Santa wished to cause harm;

"Get the fuck out, 'fore I blast you to hell,

I don't give a damn about your Noel."


Santa, he laughed, and his little round belly,

Shook like a bowlful of strawberry jelly.

"I wouldn't advise it," he said with a wink,

"If you happen to kill, what will your kids think?"


I scowled at the fool, but his words they were wise,

So I let my hand fall and glared in his eyes,

"So what do you want then?" I snapped at the man,

And waited to hear out our intruder's plan.


Well, he grinned and he let down the sack by his toes,

Before laying a finger aside of his nose,

"I've come to give presents. It is what I do,

I've even got something in this bag for you."


From his sack he pulled out a bright colored ball,

It's one I had seen; there were seven in all.

I squinted at Santa, my suspicions high,

And suddenly knew that this man had to die.


"KAKAROT!" I roared; I knew that smug face,

And I chased him 'round my wife's living space.

He laughed and he dodged, a right jolly clown;

While I was resolved to give a beat down.


But with two little fingers, he blipped from the room;

He was always so good at escaping his doom.

And I heard him call out as he fled from our fight:

"MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!"


AN: Original 'A Visit from St. Nicholas' poem by Clement Clark Moore.

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, whatever you may or may not celebrate. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone for their support, for all your likes, comments, and positivity in the community. It's been an honor. 3