TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE XMAS

Due to another groundswell of indifference, I'm posting this heartwarming poem for the third year in a row, still hoping that it will eventually grow into an enduring holiday classic, if only in the privacy of my delusional mind.

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Twas the night before Xmas, when all through my pad

Naught was rhyming with Xmas, and this made me mad;

The TV was tuned to the Home Shopping Place

In hopes that St. Nicholas would not show his face;

To celebrate Xmas all over the globe

I opened a brewski from Ye Old Latrobe;

At length I tuned in to the Playboy Channel

And put on my PJ's, the ones in red flannel;

I sat on the couch like a russet potato

"Anna Nicole Smith was sure one hot tomato!"

I poured a martini, to warm me within

Eschewing dumb eggnog in favor of gin;

Then just when my loins were beginning to stir

I heard in the sky an incredible whir;

I zipped up and ran to my highrise balcony

The place where I practice my hobby of falconry;

And what to my bloodshot eyes should appear

But a huge flying saucer with a silver veneer;

Eight tiny green creatures climbed down on a ladder

And I became so frightened I emptied my bladder;

"What is it you want, if I'm not being nosy?"

I asked as they circled me, ring-around-the-rosy;

"We'd like to examine your brain's frontal lobe

And also the classic, the old anal probe."

"But I am no leader, no Martin Van Buren;

I'm just some poor schmuck standing in his own urine!"

I could not dissuade them, or bribe them with money

I offered them beer; they just thought that was funny;

They made me lie down on the dining room table

And did things involving a fiber optic cable;

A half hour later they boarded their craft

Was it all just a dream? Was I crazy, or daft?

Then I heard them exclaim, ere they drove out of sight

"Happy Xmas to all, and to all a good night!"