Merry Whatever

‘Twas the month before Christmas
When all through our land,
Not a Christian was praying
Nor taking a stand.

Why the Politically Correct Police had taken away,
The reason for Christmas – no one could say.
The children were told by their schools not to sing,
About Shepherds and Wise Men and Angels and things.

It might hurt people’s feelings, the teachers would say
December 25th is just a “Holiday “.
Yet the shoppers were ready with cash, checks and credit
Pushing folks down to the floor just to get it!

CDs from Madonna, an X BOX, an I-pod
Something was changing, something quite odd!
Retailers promoted Ramadan and Kwanzaa
In hopes to sell books by Franken & Fonda.

As Targets were hanging their trees upside down
At Lowe’s the word Christmas – was no where to be found.
At K-Mart and Staples and Penny’s and Sears
You won’t hear the word Christmas; it won’t touch your ears.

Inclusive, sensitive, Di-ver-si-ty
Are words that were used to intimidate me.
Now Daschle, Now Darden, Now Sharpton, Wolf Blitzen
On Boxer, on Rather, on Kerry, on Clinton!

At the top of the Senate, there arose such a clatter
To eliminate Jesus, in all public matter.
And we spoke not a word, as they took away our faith
Forbidden to speak of salvation and grace.

The true Gift of Christmas was exchanged and discarded
The reason for the season, stopped before it started.
So as you celebrate “Winter Break” under your “Dream Tree”
Sipping your Starbucks, listen to me.

Choose your words carefully, choose what you say
Shout MERRY CHRISTMAS, not Happy Holiday !

Ode to Finals Week

‘Twas the night before finals, and all through the college,
The students were praying for last minute knowledge.
Most were quite sleepy, but none touched their beds,
While visions of essays danced in their heads.

In my own apartment, I had been pacing,
And dreaded exams I soon would be facing.
My roommate was speechless, his nose in his books,
And my comments to him drew unfriendly looks.
I drained all the coffee, and brewed a new pot,
No longer caring that my nerves were shot.

I stared at my notes, but my thoughts were muddy,
My eyes went a blur, I just couldn’t study.
“Some pizza might help,” I said with a shiver,
But each place I called refused to deliver.
I’d nearly concluded that life was too cruel,
With futures depending on grades had in school.

When all of a sudden, our door opened wide,
And Patron Saint Put-It-Off ambled inside.
Her spirit was careless, her manner was mellow,
She wore a white toga, she started to bellow:
“What kind of student would make such a fuss,
To toss back at teachers what they tossed at us?”

“On Cliff Notes! On Crib Notes! On last year’s exams!
On Wingit and Slingit, and last minute crams!”
Her message delivered, she vanished from sight,
But we heard her laughing outside in the night.
“Your teachers have pegged you, so just do your best.
Happy finals to all, and to all, a good test!”

Poor Clement Moore

‘Twas the night before Thursday
And poor Clement Moore
Had his poem being copied
By many a bore

His “Night Before Christmas”
Is perfect in rhyme
His rhythm and cadence
Are wonderfully fine.

But then come the wise guys
With internet cool
Who use Clement’s rhyme
As sort of a tool

They pick up the style
From this poem of “that night”
And they hitch up their sled
to whatever’s their gripe.

Now I’m not even saying
That there’s something not right
By using Moore’s poem
To carry a fight.

I guess my complaint
Is not in their chore
But the number of times
they steal from Clem Moore.

So I say to you all
As I close down this gripe
“Merry Christmas to All
And to All a Good Night!”

‘Twas the Night Before Ramadan

by Mullah Mohammed Omar

‘Twas the night before Ramadan, and all through the cave
Not a creature was stirring; it felt like a grave.
The turbans were hung by the fire pit with care,
In hopes that the Air Force would not soon be there.

The soldiers were restless without any beds,
While visions of air strikes flashed in their heads.
Osama in his burkha and I in my goatskin cap,
Had just settled down for a cold, barren winter’s nap.

When out on the ledge there arose such a clatter,
I grabbed my Kalashnikov to see what was the matter.
Away from the racket I ran like a girl,
Tripped over a goat; into a ball I did curl.

The moon shone down on the new-fallen snow
And lit up the valley with an ominous glow,
When, what to my one good eye should appear,
But a dozen Apaches, and tanks in the rear.

And their leader, so fearless, his troops he did push,
I knew in an instant it must be George Bush.
More rapid than eagles his forces they came,
And they whistled, and shouted, and called out our names.

“Now Omar! Osama! Muhammad! Abdul!
We come for you now; we’ve taken Kabul!
To the top of the cliffs! To the back of their caves!
When you chose this war, you dug your own graves!”

As the dry leaves that before the assault choppers fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, light up the sky.
So up to the ledge his forces they flew
With full magazines, and flamethrowers, too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard with a thud
The explosions of Tomahawks; not one was a dud.
As I chambered my rifle, and was turning around,
Osama was there, disguised in a gown.

He was dressed all in drag, from his head to his toes,
And he said he would flee while I held off his foes.
A bundle of money he had stuffed in his pack,
He said “I’m going to Baghdad and I’m not looking back!”

His eyes were all glassy; he trembled with fear,
The American bombs, they rang in his ears.
He saddled his goat, then turned tail and fled,
But a Marine Corps sniper got him in the head.

I watched with cold fear as his body did slump,
The goat threw him off; he fell with a thump.
And so, there I stood, my plans all destroyed,
About to suffer a fate I could not avoid.

I dropped to my knees; asked Allah for help,
His voice boomed in my ears, “You ignorant whelp!
I gave you the Bible, the Torah and Koran,
But you were too arrogant to understand.

“I told you to honor your neighbors and wives,
Not to enslave them, or degrade their lives!
You invoke My name to sanction your deeds,
But you are the last thing that this world needs.

“And so, I’ll send you and bin Laden to Hell.”
The last words I heard, as the bombs fell,
Were from George Bush himself as he mounted the wall,
“One nation, under God, with liberty and justice for all!”

‘Twas The Night Before Christmas…Mom Style

Twas the night before Christmas,
when all thru the abode
Only one creature was stirring,
and she was cleaning the commode.

The children were finally sleeping,
all snug in their beds,
while visions of N-64 and Barbie,
flipped through their heads.

The dad was snoring in front of the TV,
with a half-constructed bicycle propped on his knee.
So only the mom heard the reindeer hooves clatter,
which made her sigh, “Now what is the matter?”

With toilet bowl brush still clutched in her hand,
She descended the stairs, and saw the old man.
He was covered with ashes and soot, which fell with a
shrug, “Oh great,” muttered the mom, “Now I have to clean the rug.”

“Ho Ho Ho!” cried Santa, “I’m glad you’re awake.”
“Your gift was especially difficult to make.”
“Thanks, Santa, but all I want is time alone.”
“Exactly!” he chuckled, “So, I’ve made you a clone.”

“A clone?” she muttered, “What good is that?”
“Run along, Santa, I’ve no time for chit chat.”
Then out walked the clone – The mother’s twin,
Same hair, same eyes, same double chin.

“She’ll cook, she’ll dust, she’ll mop every mess.
You’ll relax, take it easy, watch The Young and The Restless.”
“Fantastic!” the mom cheered. “My dream has come true!”
“I’ll shop, I’ll read, I’ll sleep a night through!”

From the room above, the youngest did fret.
“Mommy?! Come quickly, I’m scared and I’m wet.”
The clone replied, “I’m coming, sweetheart.”
“Hey,” the mom smiled, “She sure knows her part.”

The clone changed the small one and hummed her tune,
as she bundled the child in a blanket cocoon.
“You’re the best mommy ever. I really love you.”
The clone smiled and sighed, “And I love you, too.”

The mom frowned and said, “Sorry, Santa, no deal.”
That’s my child’s LOVE she is trying to steal.”
Smiling wisely Santa said, “To me it is clear,
Only one loving mother is needed here.”

The mom kissed her child and tucked her in bed.
“Thank You, Santa, for clearing my head.
I sometimes forget, it won’t be very long,
when they’ll be too old for my cradle and song.”

The clock on the mantle began to chime.
Santa whispered to the clone, “It works every time.”
With the clone by his side Santa said “Goodnight.
Merry Christmas, dear Mom, You will be all right.”


Sometimes we need reminding of what life is all about. Especially at times during the Holiday season, when all we seem to do is clean and bake and shop and and and and and and and….You get the picture, I’m sure. So stop for a moment and hug that little one so special, whether he/she is 2 months or 22 years, or even older than that.

For they are the Gift that God gave us in life…and what a gift to be treasured, far above any other!

May the real meaning of Thanksgiving and Christmas be with you all this year.

‘Twas The Night Before Y2K

‘Twas the night before Y2K,
And all through the nation
We awaited The Bug,
The Millennium sensation.

The chips were replaced
In computers with care,
In hopes that ol’ Bugsy
Wouldn’t stop there.

While some folks could think
They were snug in their beds
Others had visions
Of dread in their heads.

And Ma with her PC,
And I with my Mac
Had just logged on the Net
And kicked back with a snack.

When over the server,
There arose such a clatter
I called Mister Gates
To see what was the matter.

But he was away,
So I flew like a flash
Off to my bank
To withdraw all my cash.

When what with my wandering eyes
Should I see?
My good old Mac
Looked sick to me.

The hack of all hackers
Was looking so smug,
I knew that it must be
The Y2K Bug!

His image downloaded
In no time at all,
He whistled and shouted,
Let all systems fall!

Go Intel! Go Gateway!
How HP! Big Blue!
Everything Compaq,
And Pentium too!

All processors big,
All processors small,
Crash away! Crash away!
Crash away all!

All the controls
That planes need for their flights
All microwaves, trains
And all traffic lights.

As I drew in my breath
And was turning around,
Out through the modem,
He came with a bound.

He was covered with fur,
And slung on his back
Was a sack full of virus,
Set for attack.

His eyes-how they twinkled!
His dimples-how merry!
As midnight approached, though
Things soon became scary.

He had a broad little face
And a round little belly,
And his sack filled with virus
Quivered like jelly.

He was chubby and plump,
Perpetually grinning,
And I laughed when I saw him
Though my hard drive stopped spinning.

A wink of his eye,
And a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know
A new feeling of dread.

He spoke not a word,
But went straight to his work,
He changed all the clocks,
Then turned with a jerk.

With a twitch of his nose,
And a quick little wink,
All things electronic
Soon went on the blink.

He zoomed from my system,
To the next folks on line,
He caused such a disruption,
Could this be a sign?

Then I heard him exclaim,
With a loud, hearty shout,
Happy Y2K to you all,
This is a helluva night!

A Military Christmas

Note: This is the original version, written by former Lance Corporal James M. Schmidt, stationed in Washington DC in 1986. The full version of the story behind this poem can be read at Snopes.com.


Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone,
In a one bedroom house made of plaster & stone.

I had come down the chimney, with presents to give
and to see just who in this home did live.

As I looked all about, a strange sight I did see,
no tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
No stocking by the fire, just boots filled with sand.
On the wall hung pictures of a far distant land.

With medals and badges, awards of all kind,
a sobering thought soon came to my mind.
For this house was different, unlike any I’d seen.
This was the home of a U.S. Marine.

I’d heard stories about them, I had to see more,
so I walked down the hall and pushed open the door.
And there he lay sleeping, silent, alone,
Curled up on the floor in his one-bedroom home.

He seemed so gentle, his face so serene,
Not how I pictured a U.S. Marine.
Was this the hero, of whom I’d just read?
Curled up in his poncho, a floor for his bed?

His head was clean-shaven, his weathered face tan.
I soon understood, this was more than a man.
For I realized the families that I saw that night,
owed their lives to these men, who were willing to fight.

Soon around the Nation, the children would play,
And grown-ups would celebrate on a bright Christmas day.
They all enjoyed freedom, each month and all year,
because of Marines like this one lying here.

I couldn’t help wonder how many lay alone,
on a cold Christmas Eve, in a land far from home.
Just the very thought brought a tear to my eye.
I dropped to my knees and I started to cry.

He must have awoken, for I heard a rough voice,
“Santa, don’t cry, this life is my choice
I fight for freedom, I don’t ask for more.
My life is my God, my country, my Corps.”

With that he rolled over, drifted off into sleep,
I couldn’t control it, I continued to weep.

I watched him for hours, so silent and still.
I noticed he shivered from the cold night’s chill.
So I took off my jacket, the one made of red,
and covered this Marine from his toes to his head.
Then I put on his T-shirt of scarlet and gold,
with an eagle, globe and anchor emblazoned so bold.
And although it barely fit me, I began to swell with pride,
and for one shining moment, I was Marine Corps deep inside.

I didn’t want to leave him so quiet in the night,
this guardian of honor so willing to fight.
But half asleep he rolled over, and in a voice clean and pure,
said “Carry on, Santa, it’s Christmas Day, all secure.”
One look at my watch and I knew he was right,
Merry Christmas my friend, Semper Fi and goodnight.

A Dieter’s Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas and all round my hips
were Fannie May candies that sneaked past my lips
Fudge brownies were stored in the freezer with care
in hopes that my thighs would forget they were there
While Mama in her my girdle and I in chin straps
had just settled down to sugar-borne naps
When out in the pantry there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter
Away to the kitchen I flew like a flash
tore open the icebox then threw up the sash
The marshmallow look of the new-fallen snow
sent thoughts of a binge to my body below
When what to my wandering eyes should appear:
a marzipan Santa with eight chocolate reindeer!
That huge chunk of candy so luscious and slick
I knew in a second that I’d wind up sick
The sweet-coated santa, those sugared reindeer
I closed my eyes tightly but still I could hear
On Pritzker, on Stillman, on weak one, on TOPS
a Weight Watcher dropout from sugar detox
From the top of the scales to the top of the hall
now dash away pounds now dash away all
Dressed up in Lane Bryant from my head to nightdress
my clothes were all bulging from too much excess
My droll little mouth and my round little belly
they shook when I laughed like a bowl full of jelly
I spoke not a word but went straight to my work
ate all of the candy then turned with a jerk
And laying a finger beside my heartburn
I gave a quick nod toward the bedroom I turned
I eased into bed, to the heavens I cry
if temptation’s removed I’ll get thin by and by
And I mumbled again as I turned for the night
in the morning I’ll starve…’til I take that first bite!

‘Twas the Night of Nekkid Frustration

‘Twas a quiet night,
And all through the house,
No one was home,
Not even the spouse.

I was real horny,
With no one here who would care,
So I dialed AOL,
To see if My friends were there.

I looked at my buddy list,
To see who was online,
While visions of cyber-sex,
Danced through my mind.

When all of a sudden,
Who on my list should appear,
Just the best little cyber-babe,
I’d ever had here.

I IM’d her with “hey darlin”,
Kisses, hugs, and hello,
When I suggested a private room,
She said ‘lets go”.

I made up a name,
We both clicked, and were in,
Anticipating the fun that,
Was about to begin.

We {S kissed and {S hugged,
Then our clothes we did shuck,
It was just then,
I ran out of luck.

Naked and hot,
To the imaginary bed we scooted,
When the next thing I knew,
I had been booted.

I ranted and raved,
And cursed AOL,
For taking my money and,
Putting me through hell.

I signed on again,
And impatiently waited,
Hoping and praying,
Her lust hadn’t abated.

I was finally online and,
To the room I did dash,
To my little cyber-girl,
And heaven at last.

We got past the foreplay,
Were cyber-fuckin and then,
To my utter frustration,
I was booted again.

I cursed AOL,
As I got back online,
For what I swore would be,
The very last time.

We got down to business,
And as the end neared,
It happened again,
That thing that I feared.

Now the first was bad timing,
The second rough,
But the third time booted,
I’d had enough.

A letter I wrote,
Addressed to Steve Case,
Telling him what I would do,
If we ever came face to face.

I wrote in great detail,
Just how he would pay,
For my getting booted,
Three times getting layed.

You may think this funny,
An ass-slappin hoot,
But the next time you cyber,
WATCH OUT FOR THE BOOT