“In the year 1822, … Dr. Clement Moore, walking home that snowy Christmas Eve, met an old crony, a chubby, jolly Dutchman, and stopped to chat with him and listen again to some of the remarkable tales of the powers of St. Nicholas. When Dr. Moore got home he wrote the immortal Christmas poem ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas’… In the description of the ruddy Saint, Dr. Moore’s Dutch friend became the poetic incarnation of Santa Claus.

Dr. Moore wrote the poem for his children- to make more real to them the personality of the saint whose visit they were eagerly expecting. As he read it aloud to his family that Christmas Eve, it cast a spell upon them. A relative copied down the poem and sent it to a newspaper, which published it the next Christmas without Dr. Moore’s name or permission. It was republished again and again all over America, but Dr. Moore, for 24 years, did not admit he had written it. [After all,] he was a serious theologian, a compiler of Hebrew lexicons, the founder of the General Theological Seminary of New York.[1]

In the year 2008, almost 200 years later, the Rev. Dr. Greg Austen wrote the following alternative and less peaceful version of Dr. Moore’s work for a youth group Christmas party. To my knowledge, no one has ever desired to write it down or publish it. This also means it is unlikely that it will be republished and so, rather than wait 24 years, I’ll admit to writing it now and apologize in advance. Although I know it will cast no spells, I do hope it brings a smile to you or someone you love. Please put on your best junior high self (for some of us that’s easier than others!) and enjoy. Merry Christmas! 🙂

Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house
Things were a mess but our spirits weren’t doused
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care
They stunk so bad they needed the air

The children were wrestling and fighting in bed
As tables and bookshelves bounced off their heads
My wife in her kerchief and I in my cap
Had just settled them down with a backhanded slap

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter
I told my wife to get up and see what was the matter
She wouldn’t so I arose with a flash
Tripped over the cat and fell in the trash

The moon circling stars seemed to mix with the snow
As I lay there in pain from my position below
When what to my blackened eye should appear
But a miniature guy and eight tiny reindeer

Like Chuck Norris unleashed so lively and quick
I knew in a moment it must be St. Ninja Nick
More rapid than tigers his crouching moves came
But he was mean to the reindeer and called them all names

Now Ditzy, Now Dopey now Pansy and Pixen[2]
On Vomit on Stupid on Blunder and Kibbles and… Bitzen
Get up on that porch, get up on that wall
We ain’t got all day!  Now get up and haul!

He fed them well so they let his words fly
They thought about food as they took to the skies
So, up to the housetop the reindeer they flew
It was a sleigh full of Alpo that St. Ninja Nick liked too

Excited like kitties with sandbox on roof
The scratching and pawing of each little hoof
I’d recovered from falling, and looking around
Down the chimney red warrior came with no sound

Dressed in fatigues, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished from battles and soot.
A couple of rounds he had flung on his back,
And he looked like Rambo, just opening his pack.

His eyes didn’t twinkle- his features were scary!
His cheeks weren’t like roses, his nose… it was hairy!
His drooling mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And then to my horror, he peed in the snow!

The stumps of two pipes he held tight in his teeth,
These transformed to nunchucks he hung by the wreath.
Too many doughnuts and so… a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly!

Redneck and rowdy, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings[3], then turned with a jerk[4]
And laying his finger inside of his nose,
A disgusting little habit that he wiped on his cloths!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
A strange little gift that they tossed in the thistles.
But I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-fight!”

[1] The Reader’s Digest, Number 16: American Christmas Traditions (Pleasantville, NY: 1945) 9.

[2] That’s “Pixen Nosen,” a German reindeer

[3] We can only assume this was with dog food and weaponry.

[4] This “jerk” is a mysterious character just introduced to the story. We do not have time to pursue his identity now.