It’s that time of year again, when Fearless Admin and I get into the eggnog and let our imaginations run rampant! Hot on the heels of last year’s “Twelve Days of Chisholm“, and with our deepest apologies to Clement Clarke Moore (and some indifference to rhyming), we bring you our versions of “‘Twas the Night Before Christmas”, featuring… certain familiar individuals.
RFodchuk: I thought Jack Turner might have a particularly interesting night before Christmas.
‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through Jack Turner’s house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even Hasan tied up in the basement.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Bingham soon would be there.
Stevie and Eddie nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of sugary cereal and ice cream danced in their heads.
And Sam in her knit cap and Jack in his trilby,
Had just settled in after a long-distance chase across London by BMX and Range Rover.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
Jack sprang from his bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window he flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and pulled out a cosh.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave lustre of mid-day to bloodstains below.
When what to Jack’s wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
Jack thought it might be Dave Ryder, but it was really St. Nick.
More rapid than the Old Bill his coursers they came,
And he whistled and shouted, and called them by name!
“Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen!
We’ve got to get in there quick before we’re spotted by Bingham.
O’er all the defences and to the top of the wall,
Before the mobster inside splats us all over his hall.”
As the shrapnel before the planted car bomb flies,
After it meets with a Ranger Rover and blows it sky-high,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Mysterious Briefcases and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, Jack heard on the roof
Reindeer avoiding surveillance cameras with each little hoof.
As he drew in his head and was turning around,
Down the chimney – which Bingham should’ve Santa-proofed – came St. Nick with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur from his foot to his head,
And Jack couldn’t help but approve, for he wore white and bright red.
A bundle of toys he had on his back,
Quite a few for Eddie, but mostly for Jack (Stevie gets nothing.).
Jack’s eyes, how they twinkled! His dimples, how lethal!
St. Nick was certain he was entirely too gleeful.
He said, “Now, it says Jack Turner’s to get most of this gear,
But I thought for sure he was under ‘Naughty’, not ‘Nice’, for this year.”
“Don’t believe what you hear, you old geezer,” snarled Jack through his teeth,
As cigar smoke encircled his head like a wreath.
“Give over the goods, like a cooperative gent,
And you can leave with your deer without paying me rent.”
St. Nick was confused by this unusual greeting,
But decided it wasn’t worth arguing or pleading.
He dished out the presents without further complaint,
Wondering to himself why it seemed he could smell… burnt paint?
St. Nick finished his work, trying not to mistrust,
But he couldn’t help noticing Jack had asked for a lot of Karl Marx busts.
“That’s all of yours,” he said, hoping to escape up the stack,
But Jack said, “And now the rest, from the sleigh and your sack.”
St. Nick emptied the rest with a sigh of regret,
For despite Jack’s smile, he’d broken out in cold sweat.
Bereft of all presents, he trailed back to his sleigh,
Wondering how anyone else would get anything this day.
“That’s lovely,” said Jack, “And now you can leave.”
As St. Nick climbed into his sleigh, trying not to feel peeved.
And Jack heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“I still say there was a mistake there, ‘Naughty’, not ‘Nice’!”
Admin: And here my offering, Ebenezer is my muse.
Twas the night before Christmas, and all through Shaws
loads of creatures were stirring, including a rat named Gnaws.
An empty chest was set by a chimney so cold,
waiting to be filled with rents of coin and possibly gold.
Davy Balfour freezing in the highland heather was alone,
but forget about him; he’s not in this poem.
And Uncle Ebenezer in his nightshirt and cap,
had settled his brain for a forty minute nap.
When out on the roof there arose such clatter,
Ebenezer grabbed his musket to see what was the matter.
To the broken window he ran like a whippet,
And aiming his gun he yelled, “Who the hell is it?”
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
showed how mucky were the objects below.
When, what to his beady eyes should appear,
but a wee tiny sleigh and eight Cairngorm reindeer.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick
Ebenezer knew he must be a thief escaped from the nick.
More rapid than tax men, his coursers they came,
and he whistled and shouted and even called them rude names:
“Move it you flea-bitten, cretinous beasts, this place is a death trap;
get over that jagged wall now and I’ll give the miser his crap.”
As dust mites that before the feather duster scramble,
when they meet with a broomstick, scatter and ramble,
so up to a hole in the roof the hairy beasts flew,
with the sleigh full of loot, and the weird fat guy too.
And then in a moment there came a great din,
the muckle great reindeer caved the roof in.
As Ebenezer, still with his gun, turned around,
through the chimney the bearded weirdo fell to the ground.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
and his clothes were covered with who knows what – that fire’s never been lit.
A load of treasure he carried in a big, brown sack,
Ebenezer thought, “Hoot! He won’t be getting that back.”
His eyes — how they popped when he saw Ebenezer.
He didn’t want to upset the creepy old geezer.
His droll little mouth started to twitch,
and the beard on his chin began to really itch.
The stump of a pipe he clenched in his teeth,
as he struggled hard trying not to breathe.
“My dear, Ebenezer,” he wheezed, “this place is disgusting,
what you really need is a Yuletide dusting.”
The stranger rubbed and scrubbed, dusted and cleaned,
as Ebenezer sat with his porridge the room started to gleam.
The old fellow let out a breath and mopped his weary head,
Shaws was no longer foul, but sparkled and twinkled instead.
Then he went on to his intended work,
he filled the chest with porridge oats, then glared at Ebenezer the jerk.
And with all of his energy spent,
the odd fellow said, “I’m outta here,” and up the chimney he went.
Exhausted, he dragged himself off to his sleigh, to his team he gave a tired groan,
and away they flew leaving the miser all on his own.
Ebenezer heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“Sod it all; I’m done for the night!”