Twas the Night before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, and all around the earth
Everyone was bitching and moaning, there were no thoughts of mirth. Long hours working, for those who had jobs, then it’s off to trim trees,
string lights, and go shopping with the rest of the mob.

After cursing the traffic on the way home, you load up the mini-van, crying children in tow. This is a misguided notion of quality time, when if you left them with a sitter, all would be fine.

Last minute gifts are the cause for this trek, while accumulated stuff lay dormant on the porch and the deck. If not stuff that we crave, it’s a much bigger house. That means a much bigger mortgage, hell, it’s no wonder we regularly go and get soused.

The worries of money, and our boss who’s a jerk; we can’t quit now, one more year before the really great perks. So we endure and we toil, whilst the essentials go wanting; that’d be our kids and our friends, we find personal relationships too time consuming and daunting.

After a fight with the wife, and bedding down of the brood; we go through the motions wrapping gifts and getting Santa’s faux food.
“Don’t want to disappoint the kids” you say to yourself, while it’s already too late you unjolly elf.

You’ve frittered away their most valuable years, preoccupied with investments and those fucking assholes the Jones. It’s been hard to keep up, but you’ve done it, through stock scams and short loans. Looks like you’ve passed them if that’s what you’re after; they’ve filed for bankruptcy, moved out, their life’s a disaster.

This train of thought is broken, by a noise before dawn. You throw open the front door and scream “Get off of my lawn!” “Through spring and summer I sodded and weeded and mowed, don’t you ruin my handiwork, I’ll call the cops and have that freakin’ sleigh towed!”

“I know the mayor,”and each councilman by name, on Liebman, and Goldberg, Hernandez and Smythe; on Bennett and Jenkins…” who cares, get a life. Can’t you be kind if just for one day? You add, “I’m also the president of my HOA!”


The neighbors you ignore all the year long, have all left their homes to witness this outburst. You rant and you rave, your behavior’s the worst. The man in the red suit shakes his head in disgust, where did it all go wrong he wonders, this visit’s a bust. Self-absorbed and conceited, they think their entitled, to what I don’t know, when they act so infantile.


The man in the red suit continues to muse; they’re in a big rush, honk horns, and give the finger to whoever they choose. They don’t need bigger garages to hold stuff so bigger cars will not fit. Let’s simplify, like George Carlin once said, be nicer to each other and don’t steal shit.


Let’s take a step back, so we can see the glass is half full; call a friend or a relative, go chat with those neighbors this Yule. Let’s try to stay that way all the year through; to hell with promotions and one-upping each other, make it a point to be better fathers and mothers.


I long for the day Santa’s bag is of little weight, the things Christmas should stand for, take up a space that’s much, much too great. If we can get our heads out of our asses, and hands out of wallets, we’d understand that we’ve got what we need, and stop being so callous.

The neighborhood residents look gloomy, no presents for them. Things will be different they swear if it means happiness for they and their kin.
The man in red has brought a gift for the irate jerkoff nevertheless, he hands over an envelope, and say “you’ve been served by the IRS.”