Billy's Visit from St. Nick

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
Dysfunctional parody of A Visit from St. Nick

Submitted: January 27, 2013

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Submitted: January 27, 2013




Billy's Visit from St. Nick


'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

Billy's stocking was hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that some vodka soon would be there.

Billy was passed out, all snug in his bed

While blurred visions of margaritas danced through his head.

When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter,

He awoke from his stupor to see what was the matter.


Away to the window he stumbled to peek,

Using his sleeve to wipe the drool from his cheek.

The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow

Reminded Billy of many Christmas' ago -

Days when he asked for drums and kazoos,

Until he grew up and started asking for booze.

Billy prayed that the ice on the keg would be thick

And that soon it would come via jolly St. Nick.

When what to Billy's bloodshot eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.

Then, in a moment, Billy heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

Billy took a quick hit and was turning around

When down the chimney St. Nick came with a bound.


A bundle of booze he had flung on his back

And he looked like a hobo just opening his pack.

Billy's eyes, how they twinkled and welled up with tears.

"I love you St. Nick, now let's drink a few beers!"

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

"Oh what the hell, I need a break from the snow."

He spoke not a word, but went straight to the bong,

Quietly humming a Bob Marley song.

St. Nick's eyes turned glassy as his dimples turned merry,

They finished the vodka, then opened some sherry.

The stump of Billy's one hitter he held tight in his teeth

And the smoke it encircled the elf's head like a wreath.

He was chubby and plump, a righteous old elf;

Laughing so hard, he spilled a drink on himself.


A church bell struck two and St. Nick leaped from his chair,

Picking a tequila worm out of his hair.

"Billy, my man, it's been a real blast,

But I gots to go before Christmas is past!"

And laying a finger aside of his nose,

and giving a belch, up the chimney he rose.

"On Dasher, on Dansher, on Shnancer, on Vixshen,

On Comid, on Cupit, on Schnauzer and Schmizzen!"

More rapid than eagles, those eight reindeer flew,

Hauling the cargo of that drunk one man crew.

And Billy heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight,

"Merry Christmish to all, and to all a good gite!"


© Copyright 2017 Patri Poe. All rights reserved.

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