|Listen, dear children, and I’ll tell you a story.|
Stay away if you’re squeamish – it is rather gory.
|During Santa’s last round-the-world flight,|
his magical sleigh hit a rogue satellite.
|The poisonous gas killed him right quick|
But soon he came back … as zombie St. Nick!
|He crashed here in Pittsburgh, straight into our pool.|
And that’s where I caught my first glimpse of the ghoul.
|My neighbor, a surgeon, ran over to help.|
What happened next caused me to yelp.
|I watched from my room as the soggy old man|
devoured the thumb of the doctor’s left hand!
|Blood stained the mounds of glistening snow.|
Santa moved forward, his gait staggered and slow.
|The bewildered M.D. was no match for the beast.|
Mister Claus grabbed his leg and started to feast.
Armageddon had started outside of our house,
yet I still couldn’t rouse my slumbering spouse.
Sheer panic set in and I ran for my life,
downstairs to the kitchen and grabbed a large knife.
I stood in the darkness, heart pounding with fear.
Outside I heard cries of eight, tiny reindeer.
The flesh-hungry elf ate Vixen and Comet.
By the time he reached Cupid, I was knee-deep in vomit.
Still clutching an antler, Santa broke down my door
and blazed a blood trail on my new tile floor!
I stabbed Ol’ Kriss Kringle with my stainless steel blade,
but he kept inching closer! His strength would not fade!
Beneath a mistletoe wreath I collected my breath
and tried to avoid Santa’s rank kiss of death.
I offered him cookies and a cup of eggnog
But Santa stared blankly, as if in a fog.
It hurt me to know he’d rather chew off my face
than eat gingerbread men by the warm fireplace.
“Hey, Santa!” I hollered. “This isn’t your scene!”
“You’re a symbol of Christmas, not Halloween!”
I flung ornaments at him but, just as I feared,
They hung festively in his downy, white beard.
I was about to become a cannibal snack,
when my husband woke up and waged an attack!
He cocked the gun coolly. Santa turned with a twitch.
“Go back to Hell, you fat son of a bitch!”
Six rounds were shot; each one of them missed.
St. Nick was unfazed. I was just pissed.
I grabbed the Yule log and swung it with ire
and knocked Santa’s ass right into the fire!
The flaming cadaver continued to strain,
so I drove a hot poker into its brain.
|The house – it fell silent. Nobody spoke.|
Father Christmas went up in a puff of black smoke.
I rushed to my love, embraced him and said,
“Next time, you jackass, just aim for the head!”
The old Santa is gone, be of good cheer.
I heard George Romero’s taking over this year!