The Poems We Used to Tell

Over on The Honea Express I just finished crying about the good old days. At the annual Christmas party that I put on a pedestal I used to recite an original poem to honor the occasion. Usually the poem was so original that I "wrote" it in my head on the way to the party. The following is no exception. The only reason that it exists to this day is that party goers were so upset that the girl with the video camera failed to tape it that they made me repeat it to be written down for the sake of prosperity. Thanks to Jeanine for insisting on that point.
The poem is classic beatnik stereotype bohemian slam, forty drunks in Santa hats and snowflake ties snapping their fingers in unison while the words are shouted over them in quick cuts of infliction and random pause. Imagine Mike Myers in 'So I Married an Axe Murderer', as it was the inspiration for the style and the beat.
(The words and sounds shown in parenthesis were performed by a friend that was out of sight of other guests.)

Christmas Party Poem 1998: The Fun One

SaSanta...
Santa Claus
He’s a hip cat,
Awful damn fat,
Pretty in red makes him jolly,
Like pink did for Molly.
He’s good and he’s wise
Doesn’t tell lies,
His reindeer flie…z
He knows who’s bad,
She was the best
I ever had.
Spank her once…for me.

Jack Frost
Jack Frost
He brings on winter
Quick like a sprinter
He makes it white and cold,
Or so I’ve been told.
At night when he’s trippin’,
Nose he’s a nippin’.
I’ll keep your cold hot
with the lovin'I got
and the whiskey I’m sippin’.

Jesus
Jesus
Took H20, made it Merlot
Got drunk and ate fish,
Was the poor boy’s wish:
Round of free bread and
Thorns on his head--
Didn’t that hurt?

Christmas
Christmas is here
I can tell by the beer.
And broke as I am
Eating green eggs and Spam,
Jimmy Stewart’s got nothing on me
Livin’ life wonder-full-y. (bell)
Every time a bell rings,
An angel gets its wings
("Come and get it!")
Or dinner’s being served.