I know I can’t be the only one tired of overlapping holidays produced by overactive marketing departments, so to interject a little humor into this madness, I’ve tweaked the popular old Night Before Christmas just a little bit.  So below I now present my effort at “the Night Before Generic Holiday”…

‘Twas the night before Halloxmas, when all through the school,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a ghoul;
The pumpkins were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholween soon would be there;
The kids were screaming, all ready with their masks,
While the teachers had green beer hidden in their flasks,
And Mama with her Harlequin, and I with my computerized treasure,
Had just settled down for a long night of pleasure.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I pulled up my pants to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore off the hearts, and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of pavement outsides,
Gave the lustre of midnight to demon hides.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a heart-shaped sleigh, and eight skeletal reindeer,
With a little old ghoul, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than werewolves his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, Shadow, now Casper, now Ichabod, and Raven,
“On Igor! On Buffy! On Freddy and Craven;
“To the top of the security fence, to the top of the flag pole!
“Now dash away! Dash away! The library’s our goal!”
So up to the rooftop the skeletons they flew,
With the sleigh full of holiday sparklers – and St. Nicholween too:
And then in a drunken haze, I heard from the draw
The scraping and scratching of each little claw.
As I turned off my browser, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholween came with a bound:
He was dressed all in leather, his boots coated in mud,
And his clothes were all stained with someone’s blood;
A bundle of pumpkins he’d secured with a lash,
And he looked like a stoner just opening his stash:
His eyes – how they drooped, his dimples like a crater,
His cheeks were inflamed, his nose even greater;
His droll little mouth was drawn up in a sneer,
And the beard of his chin stank when near;
The stump of a knife he held tight in his grip,
And the blood from its tip occasionally did drip.
He had a rotting face, and a belly of worms
That squirmed when he laughed, and spat out some germs:
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old lich,
I knew if I’d catch him, I’d make myself rich;
With blood in his eye and a skull on his head
I soon came to know I had everything to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
burned all the stockings, then turned like a jerk,
And from his pants pulling out a gun
Shot me in the leg, then turned up the chimney to run.
He sprung to his sleigh, to his team gave a yell,
And away they all ran, like bunnies from Hell:
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight-
Merry Holiday to all, and to all a good fright.