'Twas a Florida Christmas

Doglips · 12-19-2003, 09:54 PM

'Twas a Florida Christmas
By Glenn Danforth

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through Brevard,
The natives were swimming or mowing the yard;
The charcoal was piled by the hibachi with care,
In hopes that half keg soon would be there;

The children were nestled in our Jacuzzi,
As the vodka began to make me feel woozy;
And mamma in her bikini, and I in my thong,
Realized a diet could do us no wrong;

When on the front lawn there arose such a clatter,
I crawled off the hammock to see what was the matter;
Our friends had arrived, dressed for the pool party,
Arms filled with gifts, and a case of Bacardi;

The moon on the breasts of my wife's best friend Ann,
Made me thankful for my pool, and that I'm a man;
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a mini van packed with tourists so queer;

With a little old driver, so obnoxious and mad,
I knew in a moment his directions were bad;
More rapid than eagles his curses they came,
And he spit, and shouted, and called me weird names;

"You Dasher! You Dancer! You Prancer! You Vixen!
You Comet! You Cupid! You Donder and Blitzen!"
Directions I offered, before he got hotter,
"Head east," I informed him, "and ignore the water."

As the van-full of tourists drove off to their death,
Uncle Bill filled the air with his putrid breath;
"Gather 'round children," he said with such glee,
"The real Santy Claus ain't got nothin' on me";

And then, in a twinkling, he climbed on the roof,
Drunk once again, and acting the goof;
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney he came with barely a sound;

He stood semi-naked from his head to his foot,
Wearing only his stockings and ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack;

His eyes, they were crossed, his gait was unsteady,
He smelled of cheap whisky, his nose like a cherry!
The children were ushered outside with much speed,
As we filled him with coffee, so much did he need;

We knew it was Christmas, 'twas the same scene each year,
Uncle Bill would get faced, and fall on his rear;
He had a small head and a humungous belly,
That shook when he laughed like an ocean of jelly;

The weight of a rhino, the height of an elf,
I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave us to know we had something to dread;

He fell off the sofa and went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then called me a jerk;
I grabbed for his car keys, and called him a cab,
He tried to nail me, but missed with his jab;

The taxi came quick, it seemed like a week,
And away Billy drove, barely able to speak;
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas Brevard! Hey, can I drink on this flight?"

12-19-2003, 09:54 PM	#1
Doglips Senior Member Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Cocoa Florida Posts: 9,088	'Twas a Florida Christmas 'Twas a Florida Christmas By Glenn Danforth 'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through Brevard, The natives were swimming or mowing the yard; The charcoal was piled by the hibachi with care, In hopes that half keg soon would be there; The children were nestled in our Jacuzzi, As the vodka began to make me feel woozy; And mamma in her bikini, and I in my thong, Realized a diet could do us no wrong; When on the front lawn there arose such a clatter, I crawled off the hammock to see what was the matter; Our friends had arrived, dressed for the pool party, Arms filled with gifts, and a case of Bacardi; The moon on the breasts of my wife's best friend Ann, Made me thankful for my pool, and that I'm a man; When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a mini van packed with tourists so queer; With a little old driver, so obnoxious and mad, I knew in a moment his directions were bad; More rapid than eagles his curses they came, And he spit, and shouted, and called me weird names; "You Dasher! You Dancer! You Prancer! You Vixen! You Comet! You Cupid! You Donder and Blitzen!" Directions I offered, before he got hotter, "Head east," I informed him, "and ignore the water." As the van-full of tourists drove off to their death, Uncle Bill filled the air with his putrid breath; "Gather 'round children," he said with such glee, "The real Santy Claus ain't got nothin' on me"; And then, in a twinkling, he climbed on the roof, Drunk once again, and acting the goof; As I drew in my hand, and was turning around, Down the chimney he came with barely a sound; He stood semi-naked from his head to his foot, Wearing only his stockings and ashes and soot; A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack; His eyes, they were crossed, his gait was unsteady, He smelled of cheap whisky, his nose like a cherry! The children were ushered outside with much speed, As we filled him with coffee, so much did he need; We knew it was Christmas, 'twas the same scene each year, Uncle Bill would get faced, and fall on his rear; He had a small head and a humungous belly, That shook when he laughed like an ocean of jelly; The weight of a rhino, the height of an elf, I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, Soon gave us to know we had something to dread; He fell off the sofa and went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings, then called me a jerk; I grabbed for his car keys, and called him a cab, He tried to nail me, but missed with his jab; The taxi came quick, it seemed like a week, And away Billy drove, barely able to speak; But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, "Happy Christmas Brevard! Hey, can I drink on this flight?"