The Night Before Christmas

Many years ago, a gentleman sat down and wrote a
poem about Christmas. No one seems to know just
who the guy was, but his poem has become a
Christmas tradition, and you have no doubt heard it
enough times to memorize it. I have anyway,
although I still have trouble with the names of
Santa's reindeer that the poem originated.

Let's see, there's Dancer, Prancer, Slasher, Stupid,
Cleanser, Donny, Blitzkrieg, and Vixen, who have
since gone on to achieve solo stardom in the
venison aisle of your local supermarket. (Editor's
note: This is not really true, as most supermarkets
do not carry venison at all.) Their place has been
usurped by Rudolph, a glowing-nosed freak.
(Lawyer's note: He means "differently
luminously-enabled freak".)

This shows how a little updating is necessary now
and again, so I have taken the liberty of giving "The
Night Before Christmas" a more contemporary
flavor (along with about 40 million other hacks):

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through
the mall
There was hustle and bustle in stores one and all.
The stockings weren't selling, it was easy to tell,
Though the pair Santa sported was looking just
swell.
The children were snuggled all snug in their carts
With the last Tickle Me Elmo hugged close to their
hearts.
And Mama in her Reeboks and I in my Nikes
Had just sprinted our lungs out for the last wheel of
cheese.
When out on the common there arose such a clatter,
I turned round in line to see what was the matter.
I elbowed a granny and knocked down a tot
There was no way in hell I would give up my spot.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear
But some shopping-crazed guy with a plastic
reindeer.
With mall security moving in quick
I knew in a moment he wasn't St. Nick.
His voice how it cracked as he called to the SWAT
team,
And the smile on his face was a lunatic's beam,

"I only want Prancer, not Cupid or Comet,
The one that I have is all covered with vomit.
That's what you get when you shop a huge mall
And it's dash away, dash away, dash away all!"

Like withered leaves 'fore the wild hurricane fly
When they meet with an obstacle mount up to the
sky,
So SWAT team snipers deployed on the roof;
I heard the scraping and pawing of each tiny hoof.

"That reindeer is Santa's, it isn't for sale,"
Said a voice on a bullhorn as kids started to wail.

"He's coming with me, don't try to stop me!"
Things looked pretty bad, when I happened to see

Two of the SWAT guys with blackened-out faces
Crashed through the skylight in separate places.
They didn't look jolly, and I gripped my jelly
As they gave the poor guy a whack in the belly.

"It's all over, folks, you have nothing to fear
Just move along, not much to see here."

And laying a finger 'neath his bloody nose,
With a nod of his head the guy finally rose.
I heard him exclaim ere he was dragged out of sight,
"A commercialized Christmas just cannot be right!"

And as I turned back to wait in the line
The words he had said reverbed in my mind.
You cannot find Christmas for sale in a mall.
It's not about presents, that's not it at all.
And I'll also add this, which you seldom hear
Christmas has nothing to do with reindeer!"