'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
Cookies and milk were laid out on the table,
With carrots for Rudolph and the rest of the stable;
The children were tweaked out and couldn't get sleep,
While they waited for gifts, toys and goodies to reap;
They had just snorted Ritalin to stay well aware
Of the sounds of the night and if St. Nick was there.
Then there was a crash and a bang and a swear,
And the sound of somebody kicking a chair.
The children sprang up and out of their beds,
While visions of awesome toys danced in their heads.
Into the living room they jostled and ran
To find, instead of St. Nick, a quite different man.
He had flowing white robes and wore his hair long,
There was something amiss; something had to be wrong.
This was not Santa as they had fervently hoped;
They began to back off before they got groped.
"Who are you?" asked the brother," And why are you here?"
The man fixed his halo and wiped soot off his rear.
"Who am I?" Asked the man, his words sharp and bitter,
"Has all of your Sunday school gone down the shitter?
I'm the Lord Jesus Christ, Santa doesn't exist!
He only lives in the mind of the consumerist.
This is the day where you celebrate ME,
Not some elf who has issues with obesity."
The girl clung to her brother and cried out in fear,
He held her there closely and covered her ear.
But before he could respond to the son of God's words,
There was a familiar sound that everyone heard;
The clatter of hooves and the rumbling of laughter
It could only be he who they were originally after!
A sack dropped into sight with a small cloud of soot,
Followed closely by a heavy and black-booted foot.
Jesus attempted to close the fireplace
But caught a mouthful of boot as St. Nick kicked his face.
St. Nick freed himself from the chimney's confines
And he laughed heartily as he had many times.
"Don't exist?" said St. Nick," Well that can’t be right,
Or I wouldn't be here, this night or any night.
As for stealing your thunder, I'm sorry to say
That progress is progress, and it's progressing my way.
Now usually my list is of naughty and nice,
Which I would check over at least twice or thrice,
But this year is different," said jolly St. Nick,
"This year is a list full of asses to kick,
And sorry to say, but you're top of the list,
You're interfering with business and you won't be missed."
"Let's see you try, fat-ass!" The son of God spat.
They grappled and fell, rolling this way and that.
They traded punches and blows; they kicked, screamed and bit,
They knocked over the tree and the decor on it.
Their breathing came heavily, their faces were red,
"You're dead," screamed the Saviour," You're dead old man, dead!"
The boy could take it no longer. "STOP! BOTH OF YOU!
You're acting like children, now look at you two!
You've knocked over the tree; you've knocked over the snacks,
My sister is frightened, there's scum on your backs.
I've had quite enough of both of your behaviour,
I see now the viewpoints of St. Nick and our Saviour,
If you guys are like this, I know what I must do;
To hell with this Christmas shit, I'm turning Jew."
He put on a yarmulke and left with his sibling
To leave the two figures alone with their quibbling.
They looked at each other, embarrassed, ashamed.
"I'm sorry," said Jesus. Santa felt the same.
They put back the furniture and put up the tree,
Jesus following Santa back up the chimney.
They got in the sleigh and they rode off together
Into the snowy Christmas Eve weather.
But they called out together, ere they rode out of sight,
"Happy Chanukah to all, and to all a good night!"