‘Twas Christmas in Brooklyn, 12:10 in the morning,
I’d fallen asleep (and most likely was snoring),
Kings County was quiet, the street lamps shone low,
And Prospect Park glistened ‘neath fresh fallen snow,
All covered in blankets (though that would change later,
I have no control over my radiator…),
I dreamt of the treasures that I soon would own,
A Vespa, an iWatch, a brand new Brownstone!
(For Christmas, of course, it must be understood,
Is meant to reward those especially good,
And if good is the thing, then you may rest assured,
That my place on the ‘Good List’ was all but secured),
My deeds through that year, and I do not embellish,
Made Mother Teresa look petty and selfish:
At dinner, when waiters seem haggard and spent,
I reached deep and tipped them at fourteen percent!
(That’s assuming, of course, that the service was great,
If not then I’d drop them to seven or eight),
And when riding the train with a mother and child,
I’d look up and give them my very best smile,
(A shame that they couldn’t find one open seat,
But if I gave up mine, where would I put my feet?)
The student debt crisis that’s crippling our nation,
I tackled head-on with some tax-free donations,
To Brandi, and Jasmine, and my new friend Jewel,
(A stripper who told me she’s in nursing school),
And so it was clear, based on the aforementioned,
That on Christmas morning I’d surely be destined,
To reap an abundance of Yuletide excesses,
And thus I slept soundly – no quandaries, no stresses,
Till jolted from slumber I woke with a fright,
At the sound of my door’s ringer piercing the night,
“Who is it?” I asked, rubbing sleep from my eyes,
As I opened my window, and to my surprise
I heard this response (in voice fraught with wheezing):
“Come on man – it’s Santa! It’s cold out – I’m freezing!”
(His red suit was soiled and wrinkled and stinking,
I quickly surmised the great elf had been drinking),
I reached for the buzzer, despite his demanding,
(It was Christmas time, we should be understanding),
Besides which, I thought, this may not be unpleasant,
I bet that he’s coming to bring me my presents!
So you can imagine my shock and surprise,
(As he stared back at me through his whiskey-soaked eyes),
To see that St. Nick (with whom I was now stranded),
Had come to Apartment 1F empty-handed!
(Well, not empty-handed; he clutched in his fist
A crumpled-up paper with “My Christmas List”
Written right cross the top, and despite the low lighting,
I saw right away it was in my handwriting),
“I just can’t believe” he said, slurring his words,
“That any one person could be so absurd,
As to think he’d be able to curry my favor,
Displaying such vile, repulsive behavior!
You people amaze me, the way that you think,
It’s really no wonder I’m driven to drink!”
“But Santa,” I begged, “I just don’t understand!
I implore you to find a more ethical man!
Just look how I act when a young woman passes,
I never forget to say how nice her ass is!
And though I’m quite busy I have no objections,
To leaving my comments in all comments sections!”
A red sleigh could drive through the silence that followed,
“You realize that this season used to be hallowed?”
Asked Santa, as he swiped his hat from his head,
“But I guess the true meaning of Christmas is dead,
You people don’t get it. I just can’t get through,
Despite all the blessings I’ve given to you.
If you don’t believe me, well, let’s set the backdrop,
Remember last Christmas, I brought you that laptop?
So you could read e-mails, use Twitter, check traffic?
But you’ve only used it for things pornographic!
And two years before that? That new charcoal smoker?
You gambled it off in a rigged game of poker!
I shouldn’t have come here; I knew we’d just fight,
Merry Christmas, I guess. What a terrible night.”
I couldn’t make out all the rest that he stammered,
(As I’ve said before, he was really quite hammered),
So hammered, in fact, as he made for the door,
That he lost all his footing and crashed to the floor,
“Oh Santa!” I cried, “Let me put you to bed,
You shouldn’t be flying – just stay here instead,
I’ll call Mrs. Claus and I’ll give her a warning,
I promise you’ll feel better tomorrow morning.”
I grabbed him a blanket and pulled off his boots,
I helped him shake out of his stinking red suit,
I poured him some water and said “As a favor,
Drink all of this now, it’ll help you out later”,
I tucked him in bed and I tiptoed away,
I slept on the sofa, and woke the next day,
To a pile of presents, all wrapped up in bows,
And a handwritten card filled with elegant prose:
“I guess I was wrong – you’re not always a dick,
I’ll see you next Christmas, and thanks again – Nick.”