Sunday's drive up your blog… with Ramblin' Rooster

The official blog of

Christmas Grieve

leave a comment »

by Clement Clarke Moore or Henry Livingston (we don’t know?)

(smart alec comments by Ramblin’ Rooster)

‘Twas the night before Christmas, (that’s Christmas Eve to you and me)

when all through the house not a creature was stirring, (except parents waiting for the kids to fall asleep so they can do their thing and get a four hour nap)

not even a mouse, (you have mice in your house?! Why not set some traps?)

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, (as apposed to haphazardly hanging them up? I’m sure OSHA will be happy to know that.)

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there, (that’s Santa Claus to you and me)

The children were nestled all snug in their beds, (total lie, never happens)

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads, (perhaps LSD is not a good choice for a bedtime snack)

And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap, (what couple goes to bed naked with only hats on?)

Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap, (if four hours is long)

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, (call the cops)

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. (to call the cops)

Away to the window I flew like a flash, (scared someone was going to jack with your lawn ornaments?)

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. (you’d think it’ be sash then shutters)

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow (a little plug for White Christmas?)

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below, (so he was worried about his lawn ornamants)

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, (I thought he was focused on his lawn ornaments)

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer, (I’ve never heard reference to reindeer being tiny, then I guess the one I hit a while back must have been a mutant, ’cause it was huge!)

With a little old driver, so lively and quick, (lively and quick? Sitting in a sleigh?)

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. (that’s Santa Claus to you and me)

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, (Coursers? I thought they were tiny reindeer?)

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name, (awful loud for trying to be low profile)

“Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen! (Santa is a very creative name giver, guess this was before Rudolph)

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! (coming in awful low!)

Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!” (I thought they were just arriving?)

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, (so this is happening in Florida?)

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, (again there’s that horse reference)

With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too. (don’t forget the tiny horses, or reindeer)

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof (can you imagine the damage a sleigh would do to a shingled roof?)

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. (those damn coursers are tearing up the roof, I knew it!)

As I drew in my hand, and was turning around, (was he flippin’ the bird or goin’ for his pistol?)

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. (this couple sleeps in the living room?)

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, (I can’t believe that PETA hasn’t attacked poor Santa for all that fur)

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot, (not to mention histoplasmosis)

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, (why doesn’t he just take the ones that he needs, or does every house get a bag full?)

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. (so Santa’s a bum, huh?!?)

His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! (he’s a bum, but appealing?)

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! (so Santa’s organic?)

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, (Santa was gagged?)

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow, (a minute ago he was covered in soot, how’d his beard make it out clean?)

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, (Santa smokes? He gets less and less politically correct by the minute)

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath, (Santa smokes in your house? How rude)

He had a broad face and a little round belly, (Santa is pregnant?)

That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly. (Santa’s just laughing to himself? What’s in that stump of a pipe?)

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, (holy smokes, Santa’s an elf?!?!?)

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself, (that’s worse than looking a gift horse in the mouth)

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread, (was he afraid of Santa?)

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, (Santa is all business)

And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose, (Santa is a coke head?)

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose, (Santa can defy gravity?)

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. (is this before missiles, ’cause that would have been better than a plant)

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, (again with the yelling)

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.” (you broke into the house, woke up the guy who was scared, then take off and he’s suppose to have a good night?)

Egg On!

Ramblin’ Rooster


Written by Ramblin' Rooster

December 25, 2008 at 5:04 am

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: