The Nightmare Before Christmas

by Thomas M. Pender

An old favorite returns.  You'll notice at the bottom that this poem has a dual copyright year.  This is because I originally wrote this silly romp in December 1988, but over the years I have misplaced any and every copy I ever had.  So have the people who had copies.  After running out of ideas to recover the original, I sat down this week with the original text of "A Visit From St. Nicholas" and simply reconstructed my parody.  It was pretty easy overall, since it was always a line-by-line parody, but I know some small parts are different, so I can't claim it's the original.  Still, it was fun to "rewrite."  I hope my goofier (and grosser?) readers will get a Christmas kick out of this one.  Ho ho ho, indeed!  (P.S., I came up with the title five or ten years before Tim Burton.  I can't sue because you can't "steal" a title, but just wanted my readers to know that I dreamed it up on my own.)

‘Twas the night before the night before Christmas, and all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring, ‘cept for me and my spouse;

The stockings were thrown up, quite crooked with no flair,

In haste, ‘cause the relatives soon would be there!

The children were tousled, all twisted in their beds,

While terrors of great-grandmas lurked in their heads

And the Mrs. in her work clothes, and I in my pants,

Had just settled down, ‘cause we got half a chance;

When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my bed to see what the hell was the matter!

Away to the window I flew like a plane,

Damaged the shutters, and stuck my nose to the pane.

The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,

Gave a luster of midday . . . so the neighbors got a show!

When what to my irritated eyes should appear

But my brother-in-law, and his roommate (the queer)

Their eyes how bloodshot, their tongues how thick

I knew in a moment I was going to be sick

More obnoxious than salesmen, these assholes they came

They knocked down our Santa, and slurred out our names:

“Hey, Rita!  Hey, Mickey!  It’s Chuck and it’s Bill!

At our holiday party, we had more than our fill.

We’ve been driving all night, going bar to bar;

We were heading on home, but only made it this far.”

Then up on the housetop, his cohort we heard

Stumbling on our shingles, so I flipped him the bird

Then in a twinkling I heard on the roof

The stumble of a drunkard (the noise was the proof!)

As I drew in my head, and was turning around

Down the chimney Chuck fell with much damage and sound

He was covered in ashes and grime, slime and dirt;

He had garbage in his pockets, and food on his shirt.

A string of my Christmas lights he wore down his back,

And he looked like a douchebag I’d love to attack!

His eyes, how unfocused; his pimples, how many

And as far as cab fare, I could tell he didn’t have any.

His limp, slobbering mouth moved painfully slow,

And the beard on his chin was soggy with snow;

The stump of a cork he held tight in his teeth,

And a stench encircled his head like a wreath.

He had a fat face, and a large exposed belly

That had stains upon it of mustard and jelly.

He was unshaven and balding; a right ugly old elf,

And I cried when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A roll of his eyes, and a drop of his head

Soon gave me to know I’d never get to bed!

He spoke not a clear word, but went straight to his work:

He stumbled and broke my TV, the jerk!

And laying a finger straight up his nose

And cutting a fart, he peed in his clothes.

Cops sprang into action, and to me gave a ticket,

Then hauled ass back out, without taking either dickhead.

I explained to my wife in a note I did write:

“I’ve had it.  I took the car.  Merry Christmas.  Good night!”

written by t. michael pender, 12/22/88 and 12/24/11

©1988, 2011 T. Michael Pender.  All rights reserved.

Learning To Love “Iced Tea”

by Thomas M. Pender

I am not a drinker.  I never did enjoy any alcoholic beverage enough to overindulge.  There are a few I like, though.  Specifically, those drinks which have no hint whatsoever of alcohol in the taste.  It has to taste like something other than gasoline.  Mixed drinks with generous amounts of fruit juice or soda pop are just right for me.

With that in mind, I will rewind a bit.  Unlike some of my classmates, I had no interest in alcohol when I was a teen.  Didn’t think about it, didn’t wonder about it.  I learned a lot from observation, and what I observed about folks who drank was nothing I wanted to get involved in.

I don’t think my parents really felt the need to warn me about much back then.  I don’t wear guilt well.  If I had been doing anything major that I shouldn’t have been doing, it probably would have appeared on my face like the marquee of a Broadway debut.  I do remember a short “sex talk,” which I believe occurred immediately following a PTA meeting, so it must have been an interesting topic that night.  Dad smoked, but I was nowhere near intrigued with the practice.  Put simply, I was a viceless nerd.  (Of course, I say that with pride.)

One ordinary day, Dad gave me some alcohol-related advice.  This shocked me, as it was pretty much baseless.  Dad didn’t drink much at all, I never drank, and we had never discussed the stuff before.  In fact, we weren’t discussing it at that time, either.  He said, “If you ever get the chance, try a Long Island Iced Tea.”  Stymied, my only response was “Okay.”  Then, I forgot all about it.

Approximately five years later, I was a freshman in college who still didn’t care about drinking.  I was at virtually every party my floormates went to or held, but I was the guy with the Coke bottle in his hand, filled with actual Coke.  I went with my compadres one day on a two-hour drive from East Lansing, Michigan, USA to Windsor, Ontario, Canada.  The purpose of my friends’ trip was not only to purchase some inexpensive hard-to-find Canadian brew, but to get our clan to a bar in the nineteen-is-the-legal-drinking-age country next door.

I loved being among my peers on adventures, so I didn’t hesitate to get involved, but I had no plans to do anything but attend.  Canada had Coke, right?  No problem!

Once we got ourselves situated at a near-the-border tavern, the waitress went around the table for orders.  Many beer names were requested, but when she got to me, my dad’s voice echoed in my head.

I said, “Give me a Long Island Iced Tea.”

I really didn’t expect to enjoy the drink, as the name forced me to guess that it was designed to taste like iced tea, of which I am no fan.  I think it was just being in a position for the first time to actually order a drink, I wanted to get the curiosity over with.  My friends were a bit shocked, knowing that I had never drunk before, that I went with such a drink.  The reason is that, unlike myself, they actually knew what was in it.  More on that later.

A tall mug was put in front of me with a great deal of ice, a watered-down-Coke-colored beverage and a straw.  I took a meager sip and let the liquid register to my tongue.  It tasted like . . . Kool-Aid!  Kool-Aid, I can drink.  Passing the non-iced-tea-tasting litmus test, I took another sip.  Well, okay, I drank up half the large glass in one draw.  When I sat back up, the entire tableful of drinkers was staring at me, slack-jawed.  Everyone there knew I hadn’t had a drink before, and again, they knew what was in the mystery fluid.

“Are you okay?” a friend asked.

“Yeah!” I said.  “Hey, can you bring me another one of these?” I asked, finishing the first.  I had another, then I finished someone’s fuzzy navel (which also tastes not at all like gasoline), then I had a Coke.

It’s noteworthy at this point to say that I was rather thin back in these days.  For those who don’t know, the effects of alcohol on a drinker are generally proportional to the proportions of the drinker.  Skinnier drinkers get drunk quicker, as the alcohol has less drinker to travel through and affect.  With this in mind, my friends were rather intrigued and a bit amused by my excursion.  They were going to see the legendary and thin non-drinker after the effects of a few drinks!

I disappointed them all that night.  As it turns out, I had a rather high natural tolerance for alcohol.  I didn’t slur or sway a bit.  Over the years, I’ve concluded that I’m a pretty boring drinker.  I don’t like it enough to drink lots, but the effects are sorta non-effectual on me.

Here’s the punchline: After that trip, I looked up Long Island Iced Tea in a bartender’s guide.  Depending on the recipe, there are between five and ten straight alcohols in this concoction . . . along with “a splash of Coke for color”!  I can’t imagine how it tastes so non-alcoholic with that pedigree, but it sure won me over, after being disinterested in anything named “iced tea.”  I still hardly drink.  Mostly at wedding receptions or rare dinners with a party of others.  Whenever I do, this is usually the drink I have first.  It still tastes good and still doesn’t affect me much.  Then, I switch back to Cokes and waters.  Regardless of the flavor, I’m still just not impressed with the stuff.