Friday, November 30, 2007

Twas The Smell Before Christmas

A wonderful traditional Christmas poem from Jim, this actually stinks in a good way!


This is a wonderful Christmas story my family shares at this time each year.
Wonderful memories.

’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,
My bowels were a rumble, I’d eaten bad Grouse.
The toilet paper was hung from the spindle with care,
I sprayed some Lysol to freshen the air.

The children were pounding on the bathroom door,
I told them “You’ll wait or shit on the floor.”
Mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
I’d just settled down for a long winter’s crap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the throne in the mist of a spatter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters while wiping my ass.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Reminded me how badly I still had to go.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight smelly reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Schitt.
Faster than explosive diarrhea his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and farted, and called them by name;“

Now, Dookie! Now, Poo! Now, Mud Monkey and Excrement!
On, Feces! On Hankey! On, Defecation and Flatulent!
To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
Now break wind! Break wind! Pinch one off all!”

So up to the house-top the coursers they blew,
With an awful stench and eminence of doo.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The plunking and splatting of each little loaf.

As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Schitt came with a frown.
He was dressed all in fur, from his bottom to tip,
And his clothes were all covered with fresh reindeer shit.

A bundle of Charmin he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening the pack.
He searched for the crapper with fear in his eye,
A touch of the flu, “ Oh, I think I may die!”

He found said room as he grasped at his butt,
And was taken with horror, the door was locked shut.
Open this door or I’ll leave no presents up front!
Fuck you, St. Schitt, I’m taking a grunt!

He rapped on the door and rattled the knob,
“I must crap right now so finish your job!”
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed as I watched Schitt, shit on himself.

I opened the door and was knocked to the ground,
St. Schitt he did stink, I don’t want him around.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And cleaned out his drawers; then turned with a jerk,

And laying a brown finger aside of his nose,
He took a giant whiff of the odor that rose;
He sprang to his feet, to his team gave a yell,
And away they all flew like a bat out of hell.

But I heard him exclaim, at about half past eight,
“My ass is on fire, where’s my Preparation H.”


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