Disgruntled Santa

[Fishahollik]

A Christmas Story

'Twas the night before Christmas--Old Santa was pissed.
He cussed out the elves and threw down his list.
Miserable little brats, ungrateful little jerks.
I have a good mind to scrap the whole works!

I've busted my ass for damn near a year,
Instead of "Thanks Santa"--what do I hear?
The old lady bitches cause I work late at night.
The elves want more money--The reindeer all fight.

Rudolph got drunk and goosed all the maids.
Donner is pregnant and Vixen has BRAIDS.
And just when I thought that things would get better
Those assholes from the IRS sent me a letter,
They say I owe taxes--if that ain't damn funny
Who the hell ever sent Santa Claus any money?

And the kids these days--they all are the pits
They want the impossible--Those mean little s***s
I spent a whole year making wagons and sleds
Assembling dolls...Their arms, legs and heads
I made a ton of yo yo's--No request for them,
They want computers and robots...they think - I'm IBM!

Flying through the air...dodging the trees
Falling down chimneys and skinning my knees
I'm quitting this job there's just no enjoyment
I'll sit on my fat ass and draw unemployment.

There's no Christmas this year now you know the reason,
I found me a blonde. I'm going SOUTH for the season
 

[jigglestick]

lets try this one--
---------------------

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the shack,
Not a thing was a movin', from the front to the back.

The kids were in bed, I believe we had nine,
The wife in her curlers, was lookin' real fine.

A cold wind was blowin', up the holler it moaned,
All seven dogs on the porch howled and groaned.


The boys were all dreamin' of weapons and guns,
For killin' God's creatures, there's no better fun.

The girls in their feminine dreams were attuned,
To getting those gallons of Walmart perfume.

The wife wanted jewelry, like rings with big rocks,
I wanted my Chevy, down off the blocks.

Then in the yard, such a noise did commence,
Like something was caught in the barb-wire fence.

I ran to the window, and saw pretty quick,
The man makin' the racket was Good Ol' St. Nick.

You may think of Santa, in your own mind's eye,
Dressed in a red and white suit, But I've got a surprise.

That old boy's an Arkie, our fair state he won't fail'er,
He married his cousin, and they live in a trailer.

On Christmas, of course, a sleigh for his rig,
He hooks the thing up, to a razorback pig.

He climbed on the roof, with his bag full of goodies,
He backed down the fireplace, all dirty and sooty.

Fat legs in his britches, chubby hands in his mittens,
I admit from the back, he looked like Bill Clinton.

He turned toward the tree, His eyes all aglow,
He was a Southern boy, from his head to his toe.

His neck was a red one, his shirt said "Light Beer",
There was no red hat, his cap read "John Deere".

He left all the presents, with an air of delight,
Then it was back to the chimney, and into the night.

He ran into the yard, and threw his bag in the sleigh,
Then he yelled at the dogs, to get out of the way.

And I heard him exclaim, as those pigs took to flight,
"Merry Christmas to all, And to all ...A Bud Lite!"