‘Twas the last issue till Christmas, and all through the office,
Staffers were stressed, getting ticked at their bosses.
The photos were blurry, the stories were dull,
The editor tried to make sense of it all.
My deadline drew near, I’d no column to submit
And all my ideas were lamer than (expletive).
I was hungry and tired and stressed about class,
And waiting at home was a nice piece of (expletive).
I went for a walk, to let my head clear.
A newspaper’s no place for holiday cheer.
The wind was cold, I thought with a shiver,
But I had the spirit of Christmas to deliver.
At my ex-girlfriend’s house, I couldn’t stop grinning
Once I climbed on her roof and (expletive) down her chimney.
After that, I decided, just to be mean
That I’d empty my bladder into a nativity scene.
I went next to a store, which was busy as Hades.
I pushed through the crowd, knocking down some old ladies.
I found the fake Santa and pulled off his beard.
The kids in line saw it and burst into tears.
I had a good laugh and went looking for bars,
But I slipped on some ice, and I hit the ground hard.
I went unconscious from the blow to my head.
I saw a light and a tunnel, so I thought I was dead.
I sat there in heaven, which I figured was swell.
Though I bet they have much better music in hell.
All in all, I thought, this isn’t so bad.
The angels were busty and scantily clad.
Jesus was there, and he looked at me sadly.
“Troy,” he said, “Why dost thou hate Christmas so badly?”
“It’s a horrible circus,” I said to the Lord.
“Down with the shopping! Down with the stores!
“Down with parades! Down with the parties!
“Down with the decorating! Don’t get me started!”
Jesus smiled and said, “You’re right; it’s a shame.
“Why is my birthday so incredibly lame?
“Everyone thinks I’m supposed to be pleased
“When they put on nice clothes and sing songs about me.
“They put me on T-shirts and bracelets and signs.
“I’m dark-skinned, but they think I’m blond and blue-eyed.
“They buy lots of crap that they don’t really need,
“And, pardon my French, but I (expletive) hate Creed.
“All of your church services put me to sleep,
“The screaming preacher at Central sure is a creep.
“Sorry to buzz-kill and make you all solemn.
“But throw some of this in your next little column.”
“Sure thing, my man,” I said to the Lord.
I grabbed my coat and started for the door.
“Wait,” he said. “Dost thou like to party?”
He found some water, turned it into Bacardi.
We hung for a bit, and he spun me some tunes.
But my deadline was looming, so he soon turned me loose.
I said to him, “Christ, I learned so many things.
“Would you like to get baked and watch ‘Lord of the Rings?’”
He took a raincheck and sent me back home
To the world of nonsense and cellular phones.
Back at the office, it had fallen to pieces.
The editor was screaming and throwing his feces.
Hot damn, I thought. Christmas is here.
And all of society’s head’s up its rear.
I finished my column, and I wanted to shout:
“Happy Christmas to all! Now chill the (expletive) out!”
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