'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the boat,
creatures were stirring—dang rodents! (Need to get to Fawcett for some rat poison. Where was I? Oh, yeah…)
The stockings were hung by the companionway with care,
in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children, who had eaten a bag of candy-cane Hershey’s kisses,
were passed out, nestled snug in their bunks,
While that loose halyard gave a few clunk-clunks.
And I in my expedition balaclava, Ma in her fleece cap,
Had just settled under the electric blanket for a long winter's nap,
When out on the docks there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my berth to see what was the matter.
Away to the saloon, tripping over the space heater, I flew like a flash,
Tore off that moldy towel “wind blocker” and threw up the hatch.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a luster of midday to marina below,
When what to my eggnogged foggy eyes did appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer...
With a picked old sailor sort of pervy-looking and sick,
I knew in a moment he’d stolen that sleigh from St. Nick.
More rapid than osprey his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and slurred, and blurted out their names:
"Now, Dasher, Now, Dancer! Now Prancer and the Other One!
On, Comet, oh Stupid! On, Donald, I'm blitzed!
To the top of the marina roof, to the tops of masts tall!
Now dash away, dash away! Dash away all!"
So up to the marina office roof the creatures they flew,
With the sleigh full of empty rum bottles, and the imposter too—
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I flicked on my iPhone video and turned around,
Repelling down the building, Creepy Guy came with a bound.
He was dressed in dirty red foulies, from his head to his foot,
And his Mt. Gay Rum hat was covered with grease and soot;
His bloodshot eyes—how they twinkled! His staggering, how merry?!
His cheeks were gin-blossomed;Overall, he was kinda scary.
His nose was crooked like he’d just been in a row,
And the beard on his chin looked like the side of Route 50 in February, that snow;
You could tell he hadn’t trimmed a sail for a decade with that belly
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of... Jell-O-shots,
His body mass index was off the charts, the creepy old elf,
And I Tweeted his picture immediately, a funny one if I do say so myself;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled his sack with my slipmate's good deck hardware, that jerk!
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
He blew something foul out the other nostril, totally gross.
So I ran, climbed up the building, sprang to his sleigh, and stole it with a whistle,
Those reindeer and I flew north, with a lucky tailwind, much faster than a Thistle,
I saw that creeper staggering on the dock making rude gestures at me, ere I drove out of sight—
So I flashed him a merry grin and a peace sign, as I do to you, too…
“Happy Christmas to all sailors, and to all a good night!”
