Que Sarah, Sarah

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

'Twas the Night Before X-mas...in LA

This is how the old Christmas verse would have gone, had it been set in Beverly Hills...

"Twas the Night Before Christmas...in LA"

'Twas the night before Christmas, I'd pulled the nightshade
Not a creature was stirring, not even the maid;

The stockings were hung 'neath the Warhol with care,
I'd filled them myself with new Gucci eyewear;

The children were staying at their dad's for the night,
So I'd toasted myself with a bottle of white;

Alone in a little pink silk and lace number,
I passed out on my bed in a pills-induced slumber;

When out by the pool there arose such a clatter,
I called Guadalupe to see what was the matter.

Away to the window she dragged her fat ass,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon like a diamond shone bright in the sky,
I had no other choice but to open my eyes;

And what did my dilated pupils behold,
But a tricked-out stretch Hummer with rims made of gold,

The driver was debonair, polished and slick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick;

Then out of the backseat his helpers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Jose! now, Jesus! now, Pedro and Chico!
On, Carlos! on Cesar! on, Victor and Rico!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As botox injections erase all your lines,
As if by a magic reversal of time;

So too did the helpers look magically gifted,
When they rose to the roof without being lifted;

And then, up above I heard clapping of hands,
Then the singing and dancing of a mariachi band;

As I lurched down the stairs, still reeling from wine,
Through the front door strolled Nick, looking divine.

He was dressed in couture, from his head to his toe,
And a shiny new Rolex set his wrist all aglow;

A bundle of gifts he held tight in his hands,
Even drunk as a skunk I could make out the brands!

His eyes had no crow's feet, his forehead no wrinkles,
You could lose a whole 3 carat ring in those dimples;

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And his teeth were as white as the Grove's fake snow;

A cuban cigar he held tight in his lips,
And the smoke circled 'round him like Shakira's hips;

I could see through his shirt that his abs were well toned,
And they flexed when he laughed like a bowl full of stone;

His manner and style oozed of great wealth,
And I purred when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a grin that shined,
Made it clear that St. Nick knew what I had in mind;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
He filled up my stocking, then stopped with a jerk;

And laying his finger aside of his nose,
Did a line of cocaine as pure as fresh snow;

He sprang out the door, trailed by his men,
Left me wondering what happened--like Brad did to Jen,

But I heard him exclaim, as he started away,
"Merry Christmas to all, and thanks for the lay"



© 2006 Sarah Spain

2 Comments:

Blogger Daniel C. said...

This is Classic!! Publish it already so I can start a fan Club.

Oh, I need st. Nick's number. I really, like, want his playbook. :)

9:36 AM  
Anonymous Stevie said...

You're cool! But I couldn't get past the first two lines of the poem.

5:43 PM  

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