Vas the Night Before Christmas
A parody as retold by a Dutchman to his grandchildren

Vas the night before Christmas or close dere about,
Not a creature vas stirring, dey mostly pooped out;
The stockings were hung by the chimney so hot,
But a flue in a trailer ve simply ain't got.

The children had drunk all der hot "Ovaltine,"
Den glued der poor eyes to the old T.V. screen,
Vhile ma mit babushka, (that's a name for a hat?)
Vas snoring so loudly that it scared our poor cat.

Ven out in the drivevay I got me a notion,
Vhat cause dis here rumpus and vhy dis commotion?
I tink for a second, I heard, "Ho, Ho, Ho!"
Could not have been Avon a'calling I know.

The moon shone so brightly just like a mirage,
From the back of the fence vay past the garage;
You vould not believe it but straight like a bullet --
Eight tiny reindeer, a sleigh, they did pull it.

The hands of dis driver were feeble and jerky,
Cashing checks that he got from his Social Se-cur-ty;
Dis Nicholas feller did then loudly exclaim!
As he souped up this charger and called them by name --

Now Ajax, now Timex, now Reagan and Ronson,
On Huntley, on Brinkley, on Humphrey and Johnson,
From the foot of the Senate to the top of the hill,
Dey proved dere's a Santa by the Pov-er-ty Bill.

As a teamster of reindeer he sure vas a dilly,
To go sleighing on valls yet, now don't this sound silly?
Den straight down the chimney he vent flip-py-ti-flop;
The fall did not hurt him; it vas the quick stop.

His clothing he brushed off the soot and the sparks,
Looked like anyting but from Hart, Shafner and Marx;
A whole gob of goodies which filled it a sack,
He dumped on the carpet then moaned, "My poor back."

His teeth were so star-like, both choppers were tight,
In a glass, I am sure, dey come out at night;
The stump of his corncob so strong did it smell,
You gotta believe me -- it was not Cha-nel.

He spoke hardly nod-ding, cause silence vas best,
And crammed all the stockings with toothoaste called "Crest;"
Den grabbiang the burlap, which vas empty and limp,
Up the chimney he rose like the old Goodyear Blimp.

In two shakes of a jiffy or perhaps it vas tree,
This tuckered old Santa looked sadly at me;
Then, sobbing his heart out he asked mit a tear --
"Vhy do I have to do this each year after year?"

Special Bull-itin

Blow a dirge on your trumpet or tuba,
Dashed are hopes of now getting that scuba;

The news in plain verse,
Can Hardly be worse,

Santa's plane has been hyjacked to Cuba.