A Very Bitter Christmas
Mrs. Bitters composes her own poem of "The Night Before Christmas." This could only end in fire...
To all my reviewers! Thank you very much! (Gives reviewer each a hug.)
Twas the nightmare before Christmas, when all through the house- black, and deep red
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse, due to the fact that he was dead.
The tree's lights were not turned on-a Christmas tree fire was one to fear-
Just like the one that happened last year.
The children were shaking, not at all warm in their beds,
While visions of nightmares and demons danced in their heads.
And mamma in her funeral director's robe, and I in my cap,
Decided to check the Santa Claus Trap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Immediately, I called the cops, they laughed and said, "See you around, gator."
As I hung up the phone, I decided to send them a curse, perhaps some time later.
It was a freezing, moonless night, as a werewolf could be howling on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the sinister dim lighting of Halloween twilight to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature trash can, and eight Zombie reindeer.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick, in ragged colors faded red,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick, his corpse, gone and dead.
More rapid than vultures his coursers they came,
And he howled in the dead of nght, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now Deadbeat! now, Bob! now, Doomsday and perilbringer!
On, Happy Bunny! On, Stupid! on, on Frakenstein and Bad Singer!
To the top of the grave! To the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
As dry bones that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the Grim Reaper and friends flew,
With the sleigh full of demented Toys, and old Grim too.
And then, in a stop of a heartbeat, I heard on the roof
The dragging and scraping of each little bony hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Nicholas came effortlessly down.
He was dressed all in black, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of rats he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.
His eyes-how they were empty! His dimples nonexistent!
His cheeks were like ice, his clothes looking like hey were for Rent.
His enormous, broken baseball mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the point of his chin was as white as the snow.
The stump of a skunk's tail he held tight in his bony teeth,
And the terrible smell- it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a thin face and a little skeletal hands, hard not to like-
That dude looked like he'd been creamed by a motorbike.
He was hideous and ugly, a right evil old elf,
And I growled when I saw him, in spite of myself!
He couldn't wink-his eye, so he twisted his head,
Soon gave me to know I had SOMETHING to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And knocked down all my stockings, like a total jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his empty nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!
He sprang to his trash can, to his team gave a whistle, as he checked his list.
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle, with me shaking my yellow fist.
But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight,
"Horrible Christmas to all, and to all a rotten-night!"