The gang had gathered at Grumpy's for a drink before heading home. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve and the holiday madness would be ending soon. Not soon enough for them.
"Hey, Jim. What was that take off of Night Before Christmas you did last year?" Asked Sofia.
"Yeah," chimed in Greg. "That was good...do you remember it?"
Jim gulped down another shot of scotch before he recited his Vegas version of the famous poem. Every year he made his apologies to Clement Moore and toasted to the unique culture that is Vegas.
Twas the Night Before Christmas, And all through the town,
All the creatures were stirring, Especially the clowns.
The boxers were hung on the posts of the beds,
as women were working and giving some head...
The children nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Black Jack danced in their heads;
With Madame in her teddy, I with the clap,
Had just settled in for a little whip and slap.
Greg chuckled and Nick smirked as the detective continued.
When out on the strip there arose such a chatter,
I sprang from my chains, all in a lather.
Out the front door I tumbled and turned,
To see the strip lights, how brightly they burned.
The lights of the casinos on the width of the street below,
Made eerie shadows as cars moved to and fro.
Gil looked at his friend and rolled his eyes. Catherine was laughing along with the others.
Then what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Santa red limo coming quite near.
Out of the moon roof Santa's head did stick,
Along with some street ladies he had earlier picked.
All voluptious women, all beautiful dames,
He laughed and chortled and called them by name;
Now Brandy! Now Candy! Now Mandy, you lovely vixens!
Come Venus! Come Jasmine! Come Tawnya! Do some kiisin'.
"Hey, you forgot Sara," blurted Greg, who was promptly rewarded with an elbow by her.
To the end of the strip, then to the waterfall;
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!
As dry sand before desert breezes does fly,
When it meets with an airspout and reaches the sky,
So up to the casino roof the limo did cruise,
With a car full of whores and St. Nicholas too!
And then we all heard high up on the roof,
The limo's engine died with a poof.
We watched as our heads all spun around,
The outside elevator in which St. Nick came down.
He was covered in red from his head to his toe
And off each arm hung a high class hoe.
A bundle of chips he had on his back,
Along with the chips he had bundles of smack.
His eyes how they twinkled; his dimples how merry!
Along for the ride he had himself some Cheri.
"Ooooooooo, Cheri," chuckled Nick, poking at Warrick.
His hole in his mouth all full of blow,
The beard of his chin full of China as white as snow.
The stump of his weed he held tight in his teeth,
The smoke encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a wasted face and bloated belly,
That shook when he laughed til he farted a smelly.
"Euwwww," from Sara and Sofia.
He was jolly and plump; a really high ole elf,
And I laughed when I saw him inspite of myself.
A twitch of his eye and a drool in his beard,
Soon gave me to know he was not to be feared.
He spoke not a word but stumbled to his work,
Handing out goodies and then turned with a jerk.
Snorting some powder up his nose,
Into the elevator, then up he rose;
He sprang to his limo, to his girls gave a kiss,
And away they all drove, flying high in bliss,
But I heard him yell out as they drove out of sight,
Happy Christmas to all, and have a good flight!
"Jim you do that every year but I think you tweek it as you go," grinned Grissom.
"Hey, always room to improve."
They finished their drinks and settled with the bartender, slowly making their way out. Jim stopped outside and stood, watching the passers-by. He really didn't want to go home to an empty house and another holiday alone.
"Jim?" Catherine spoke very softly.
A little startled, he turned to see her behind him. "Yeah?"
"You okay?"
He sighed. "Yeah, I suppose."
"Did you ever go talk to Jenny?"
"No." He slumped. "It's been so busy. Besides...I don't know what to say."
"Planning every word ahead of time...that's Gil. You, Jim, work off gut and instincts. Go where they take you. It's who you are."
"Maybe."
"What's your instinct now?"
"Honestly...go over there right now and well...hold on to her as tight as I can." He blushed as images ran through his mind of what his instincts were telling him.
"So what's holding you back?'
He thought for a minute. "Me."
"So let go Jim. Follow your instincts and go over there...right now before you talk yourself out of it."
"But what do I say?"
"Oh...I dunno...Merry Christmas...maybe?"
He took a deep breath. "Yeah...thanks Catherine." He headed down the street to his car and drove away. As he drove, he began to hum an old Jim Croce tune, finally breaking into the lyrics...
You don't tug on Superman's cape
You don't spit into the wind,
You don't pull the mask off the ole Lone Ranger
And you don't mess around with Jim...
Finally he had it figured out. Maybe this was going to be a Merry Christmas after all.
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Hope you liked Jim's version of the poem ;-) One more chapter, I think. So, does Jim score or not?