||[Dec. 25th, 2005|05:00 am]
And Now, a Saucy Night Before Xmas.
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse, but technically that's a bunch of bullshit because right now in Europe, Africa, and Asia, they're all in the daylight hours, just past it, or close to it. Plus, David Lee Roth always stirs at any hour.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there, but actually, I was hoping that I could sleep, but my back's killing me. That's okay, because I got myself a hold of a big ass bottle of Bombay Sapphire gin at the duty-free shop last night.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads, but I don't have kids, so instead, you know, I went out for a smoke.
However, I'm sure these guys were out cruising for ass somewhere.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I ran back inside with my teeth-a-chatter.
"Where's my motherfucking baseball bat," I yelled to myself, wondering what liabilities await for clubbing an elf.
I went back outside the house, and in front of my wondering eyes should appear, oh shit, St. Nick, big, bad, but no reindeer, and I said to him, "I don't believe it."
"The real deal, yeah, that's me," and as he walked up to greet, he pulled out a glossy, autographed on the sheet.
I said, "What the fuck?"
He said, "Fuck the what."
He was dressed all in the red fur, from his head to his foot, and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
His eyes, how they twinkled, and his dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, and the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.
"So where's your bag of stuff that you sack?"
He pulled out a nine. "Right now, this is what I pack."
"No Santa!" I screamed, thinking what a stupid thing to bring a baseball bat to a gun fight.
"Don't worry, this is for the roughest parts of town, and shouldn't you be out like a light?"
I dropped my bat because this shit was like the Twilight Zone.
Then he said to me, "You wanna know what's on my cell phone?"
He pulled out his cell, and he dialed the digits.
He had it on speaker, and a voice said, "Who is it?"
"Yo ho ho, double-check for sauce1977, any hope?"
"Oh yeah," the voice said, "decent dude, worth your time, even though he smokes."
He flipped the cell closed, and stuffed it back in his fat suit,
Then he picked my pockets to root.
"Santa, man, I'm not that kinda guy, that's not right!"
He pulled out my smokes, and he said, "I'm dying for your light."
Inside my jacket, I pulled out a Bic, but before I knew it, Santa puffed on one of mine and said, "Ah, now that's the trick."
The cigarette he held tight in his teeth, and the smoke encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly, and all that gut shook when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, and I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, and I was in the know that I had nothing to dread.
"Now, sauce1977, what's this business of you being so rude?"
"Hey Santa," I defensed, "I hear some strange stuff out here, and I'm drunk, not a mind reader, dude."
"Ah, no worries, you see why I'm here today, it's not for all gifts, and not for a mere sashay."
Then he started to walk the catwalk, and I overheard Right Said Fred's "I'm Too Sexy" out there somewhere on Santa's sleigh-stereo-system, and I said "Hey!"
"I hear you're bummin,' and I can understand that, after all, I once had to dump a former Mrs. Claus in a Santa legal spat, the balls!"
"Sorry to hear, Santa, but can you understand my current fear? You know, it's 2005, and it wasn't a vintage year."
"What's to fear, you silly man? You're still alive, there's just not much snow and some Xmas rain. That's what's wrong with you people, you're hard-wired for pain."
"Yeah, but I don't get it, St. Nick Claus, I try my best, but this year has been full of flaws."
"I could throw more psycho-Freud-babble on you, but no, too much jargon on anyone wouldn't get through."
"So," I said, "What am I gonna do?"
"Hey, I'm much better than Freud . . . with a touch of ass! Stop bullshitting with the negatives! You're living in the past!"
"You should talk, Santa . . . you know, Right Said Fred's on your stereo."
"Okay, all-right, I see how it is. Let me give you the business, since you're such a wiz."
I stood there and waited, and he eyed me, hand-tussling his beard,
This is what St. Nick said to me, this man so great and weird.
"Now Chris sauce1977, I see you're upset, and you need some rest, and you need the Pistons to score a bunch in the net."
"For starters, Santa, that would be sweet, but you know, my expectations, you can't meet."
"Now, STFU already before your ass meets my feet."
I just listened, taking wise, with no further jackin' when Santa gets crackin,' all eyes.
"The world is no oyster, and there are problems all over the place.
No need for more bummers, since there's plenty to chase.
It may be the rough time of year when new bills are racked up to fear,
But you should make others' cheers when your voice hits their ears.
I'll spare you the guilt, lest you begin to wilt.
No more need for you to be ill all over some bitter pills.
No more bullshit, jocko, since new days are not guaranteed on the clocko.
There's a good spirit you can show, even to the nastiest dudes, you know?
Yeah I stretched for that one, but I'm Santa, son.
I'm powered by joy and fun, and you can add about me everything good under the sun.
So, rest your head with peace, and expect the least.
There are some feasts, and avoid being a beast."
And with that, he winked, and I started to think.
He said, "Mission accomplished!" To which, I blinked.
Around my house he ducked, and I slapped my trunk.
I smiled, to myself, and I said, "Whoduhthunk?"
Then I heard him exclaim, driving past my sight.
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"
He peeled past my house with a ride of stainless steel.
Yes, he rolled past me, not with a sleigh, but with Delorean wheels.
He peeled past my house, and I ran out front to watch him bail.
Sure enough, there was the clatter, and then he left a fire trail.
The best gift of all left spinning on an edge.
It was Santa's license plate! "OUTATIME," it said!
Merry Christmas and/or Happy Holidays.
May our new year be awesome.