OldDogNewTits












A year ago, I wrote a post about one of the most famous poems ever written. I came across it recently … “and I laughed when I read it, in spite of myself.” Okay, fine. So that’s not exactly how the poem goes. Which is sort of the whole point. It was tough coming up with a second set of jokes for some of these stanzas. But I managed. Or maybe I mangled. Either way, it’s pretty much the same word.

So, with that, I give you ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas – Mystery Science Theater 3000-Style – TAKE TWO!

* * * * * * * * * *

‘Twas the night before Christmas
When all through the house
Not a creature was stirring
Not even a mouse

  • Technically, he’s not a mouse. But I bet Herve’s going to be doing some serious nocturnal “stirring” on Christmas Eve. Does anyone know what the Benadryl dosage would be for a hamster? He weighs just over 5 ounces.

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Here’s the proof. And now I have to throw away that food bowl.

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And here’s how much he weighs when he’s blurry.

 

The stockings were hung 
By the chimney with care
In hopes that St. Nicholas
Soon would be there

  • I’m glad the elf brought us a new “H” stocking for Herve. Originally, we planned to use the cat’s old one with an “M” on it. And, if Herve asked, the plan was to tell him that the stocking stood for “MY Herve.” Honestly, I don’t know what would have pissed him off more … the fact that we thought he was stupid enough to fall for that lame explanation OR the fact that he was expected to use Milo’s hand-me-downs.

The children were nestled
All snug in their beds
While visions of sugar plums
Danced in their heads

  • I just paid a dental bill on TWO fillings for one of my kids. So, there will be NO sugar plums, Sugar Smacks, sugar cookies, Sugar Babies, Sugar Daddies or even sugar snap peas. Yes, I know we still need three syllables for the poem. How about “While visions of toothbrushes danced in their heads?” No? What about dental floss? Fluoride rinse? Fine. I’ll keep thinking.

And mama in her kerchief
And I in my cap
Had just settled our brains
For a long winter’s nap

  • The day I go to sleep with a kerchief on is the day you people can finally come commit me. A kerchief? Who wears those? I mean … besides the Brady girls.

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And it always meant they were going to be doing some kind of serious cleaning in that episode.

When out on the lawn
There arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed
To see what was the matter

  • OMG, really? I already go to bed late enough that night. You know what I want for Christmas, Santa? Sleep. On Christmas Eve and every night for that matter. So, please … keep it down.

Away to the window
I flew like a flash
Tore open the shudders
And threw up the sash

  • Why all the fancy-pants window dressing? I merely have curtains in my room. From J.C. Penney. You can look out the window in one easy step. And there’s no “tearing” or “throwing” involved. It sounds so violent.

The moon on the breast
Of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of midday
To objects below

  • Beavis and Butthead would have a field day with this stanza. Seriously, I have looked up “breast” on ten different dictionary-style websites. And none of them stray from the mammary gland. What the hell, Mr. Moore?

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I guess this looks a little like a breast. I mean … when the moon shines on it. Right?

When what to my wondering
Eyes should appear
But a miniature sleigh
And eight tiny reindeer

  • I would think that a sleigh large enough to carry the big guy not to mention at least one present for every kid around the globe would be described as anything but “miniature.” And “tiny” reindeer? Animals capable of towing this load would have to be ‘roided up Clydesdales. … Wouldn’t they?

With a little old driver
So lively and quick
I knew in a moment
It must be St. Nick

  • A little old driver named Nick makes him sound like a cabbie from a 1970s sitcom.

More rapid than eagles
His coursers they came
And he whistled and shouted
And called them by name

  • Anyone who whistles or shouts once my kids finally pass out on Christmas Eve is getting a brick of coal chucked firmly at his head.

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Yes, yes. We all know it’s not me. But I bet he’d pipe down for this chick.

Now Dasher, Now Dancer
Now Prancer and Vixen
On Comet, On Cupid
On Donner and Blitzen

  • Originally, these names were all slated as tribute names for the Hunger Games trilogy. “Now Katniss, Now Peeta, Now Foxface and Glimmer …”

To the top of the porch
To the top of the wall
Now dash away, dash away
Dash away all

  • Since I have one-story home, might you consider just landing on the lawn for a change? Or, better yet, on my neighbor’s roof? You can’t seriously hop from rooftop to rooftop. Aren’t you like the mailman? You park, handle a number of houses in close proximity, then return to your vehicle to relocate it for the next set of houses. Right?

As dry leaves that before
The wild hurricane fly
When they meet with an obstacle
Mount to the sky

  • As a kid, this stanza was always my LEAST FAVORITE of this poem. Which is weird because … WHAT OTHER KID DO YOU KNOW WHO’S DECLARED A LEAST FAVORITE STANZA IN ANY POEM? (Nerd.)

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Also not me … but we’re getting warmer.

So up to the housetop
The coursers they flew
With a sleigh full of toys
And St. Nicholas, too

  • They’re always on the tops of houses, but what of those who don’t have chimneys? Sure, we have one NOW. But it was a pretty uphill climb that my parents took us on with the whole “Santa has a key that fits every lock” story back in the day.

And then in a twinkling
I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing
Of each little hoof

  • If I hear pawing or scratching at my ceiling or walls during the night, I will be found hiding in the back of my closet in the fetal position clutching a vial of holy water and a crucifix.

As I drew in my head
And was turning around
Down the chimney St. Nicholas
Came with a bound

  • Nope. Never mind. I stand corrected. A fat killer sliding down my chimney is what would send me into the closet.

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He makes the Grinch look like a kitten.

He was dressed all in fur
From his head to his foot
And his clothes were all tarnished
With ashes and soot

  • Fine. A fat, DIRTY killer.

A bundle of toys
He had flung on his back
And he looked like a peddler
Just opening his pack

  • He’s reaching into his … HELP! HE’S GOT A GUN!

His eyes how they twinkled
His dimples how merry
His cheeks were like roses
His nose like a cherry

  • Oh, thank God. He was just reaching for his flask. That dude is completely juiced.

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“Ten lords a-dancing, Nine ladies swimming, Seven … I mean … EIGHT GOLDEN GEESE!!! (hiccup) .. Four calling hens …”

His droll little mouth
Was drawn up like a bow
And the beard of his chin
Was as white as the snow

  • I know I sound like a hypocrite here but I do not think we should be making fun of the old drunk’s mouth.

The stump of his pipe
He held tight in his teeth
And the smoke, it encircled his head
Like a wreath

  • A pipe?!!? Oh, God. Please be ordinary tobacco …. please be ordinary tobacco …

He had a broad face
And a round little belly
That shook when he laughed
Like a bowl full of jelly

  • I really don’t think we should kick a man when he’s down.

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“Shut up, you guys. Can you believe Fatty’s still trying to pull off that furry track suit? I’m surprised the Red Cross hasn’t declared him a total fashion disaster.”

He was chubby and plump
A right jolly, old elf
And I laughed when I saw him
In spite of myself

  • Well, now I just sound like a jerk.

A wink of his eye
And a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know
I had nothing to dread

  • Oh, God. I think he’s making a pass at me.

He spoke not a word
But went straight to his work
And filled all the stockings
Then turned with a jerk

  • Crap. That’s me. I’M the jerk with whom he’s turning. Damn it. Why did I have to laugh at his obesity?

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Here’s what I see when I look in the mirror. Which means I’m not only a jerk … I’m also a vampire!

And laying his finger
Aside of his nose
And giving a nod
Up the chimney he rose

  • I always thought this seemed like a baseball signal. Or maybe a cue from the Mafia.

He sprang to his sleigh
To his team gave a whistle
And away they all flew
Like the down of a thistle

  • Anyone know what that means? I didn’t so I looked it up. It’s that white feathery weed you blew on as a kid to make a wish. I can still remember my old neighbor saying, “DON’T BLOW THAT CRAP ALL OVER MY YARD! GO IN YOUR OWN YARD TO SPREAD WEEDS, YOU BRAINLESS WONDER!” Aaaah, memories.

Then I heard him exclaim
As he drove out of sight
Happy Christmas to all
And to all a good night

  • He really tore out of here fast. We are sure he LEFT things at all the houses, right?

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Um … has anyone seen my purse?

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That Suburban Momma
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It’s Christmas Eve and what I really want to do is reference you back to my first stab at this parody business entitled ‘Twas a Week Since my Surg’ry” … but that would be lazy, right?  And sooo tacky.  So, I’ll just link you to it and we’ll get to work today on an entirely new version of the famous poem by Clement C. Moore.

My surgery set me back a bit this season, but thanks to my new friend, Honest Mom, for virtually slapping me across the face yesterday … and to Dave for wrapping more gifts in one day than he has so far in his lifetime, I think we’re going to make it.  Now, I just have to wrap his gifts and finish a little easy last minute shopping at the drugstore, conveniently located five minutes away. Well, except that we haven’t prepared a thing for the Christmas Eve dinner we host for my family every year. (Don’t tell them but I’m totally going to get everything from the ready-made section of my local grocery store.)

Anyway, I literally got out of bed to type this morning when these verses started running through my head. Don’t get me wrong.  I love Christmas.  Always have.  But the stress and pressure this year?  Well, it’s killing me. Please allow me to elaborate.

——————————————–

‘Twas the night before Christmas
When all through the house
Not a creature was stirring
Not even a mouse

Okay, first of all, gross! My house does not have mice, thanks to Orkin pest control. And, if it did, you can bet my ass would be doing plenty of stirring, to say the least.  And secondly, hello? Even rodent-free, I will be ‘stirring’ until at least midnight to get everything done tonight. 

The stockings were hung
By the chimney with care
In hopes that St. Nicholas
Soon would be there

Damn, I wish that I hadn’t upgraded us to those stupid new stockings last year. Those things are huge.  Let’s just say it’s a lot more work for ‘St. Nicholas’ to get the job done.

The children were nestled
All snug in their beds
While visions of sugar plums
Danced in their heads

God, I wish their wants were as simple and inexpensive as ‘sugar plums.’ Not that I have any idea what they are anyway.  And they sound British, so the shipping alone probably negates the savings. I wonder if Amazon even carries them and if they’d qualify for my Prime membership with free shipping. Do I really want something with ‘sugar’ in its name though? Isn’t that why the marketing geniuses at Sugar Smacks changed the name to Honey Smacks years ago? What parent in their right mind would buy something for their child that starts with the word ‘sugar?’

And mama in her kerchief
And I in my cap
Had just settled our brains
For a long winter’s nap

This story is told from the mom’s point of view so I guess that would put Dave in the kerchief.  And, seriously, if he ever tries to go to sleep wearing a kerchief, I will Gilligan-slap him with my cap.  And I will post a picture of him in this kerchief here and all over Facebook so you’ll be the first to know. Oh, and settling ‘our brains for long winter’s nap?’ What are we … bears?

When out on the lawn
There arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed
To see what was the matter

Geez, Santa. Can you and your fleet please keep it down out there so my kids stay ‘nestled?’ I’ve got work to do here.

Away to the window
I flew like a flash
Tore open the shudders
And threw up the sash

Great. Thanks a lot, Santa. Now I need to get to Home Depot the day after Christmas to replace my shudders. And, apparently, my sash.   What aisle are the sashes on?

The moon on the breast
Of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of midday
To objects below

I wonder how many weasels who google ‘breast’ looking for, you know, wind up being directed to ODNT … or this poem. Maybe the famed poet used ‘breast’ as a tag for his poem to get more hits on his website.  Duh. Yes, I know they didn’t have Google back in the 1800s. In the early days, they used stuff like Lycos and WebCrawler.

When what to my wondering
Eyes should appear
But a miniature sleigh
Any eight tiny reindeer

Whoa, maybe I need to back off the pain meds. This is way worse that swaying fan blades. And, more importantly, where the hell is Rudolph?

With a little old driver
So lively and quick
I knew in a moment
It must be St. Nick

Old? Fine.  But little?  No offense, Santa, but I have no idea how you can be either ‘lively’ or ‘quick.’ Seriously, what’s your secret? Wait … it’s ‘sugar’ plums, isn’t it?

More rapid than eagles
His coursers they came
And he whistled and shouted
And called them by name

OMG, Santa! Will you please keep it down?

Now Dasher, Now Dancer
Now Prancer and Vixen
On Comet, On Cupid
On Donner and Blitzen

Comet? Vixen? Who named these deer anyway?  And, again, where the hell is Rudolph?

To the top of the porch
To the top of the wall
Now dash away, dash away
Dash away all

Dash away? Wait, you haven’t even come in yet.  Oh, and please get the reindeer off the porch.  Last year, they knocked off a ton of shingles and we spent the week between Christmas and New Year’s fixing the damned roof.

As dry leaves that before
The wild hurricane fly
When they meet with an obstacle
Mount to the sky

Hurricanes? Uncool, Mr. Moore, uncool.  We, New Orleanians, do not want to be concerned with hurricanes on Christmas Eve.  So, I’m suggesting the following replacement options: ‘As dry leaves put in my daughter’s mud pie’ or maybe ‘As dry leaves cluster across my lawn (sigh).’ Ooh, and one more.  ‘As dry leaves indicate the plant’s gonna die.’ You can have any and all of them.  Consider them my gift.  Just get ‘hurricane’ out of that poem.

So up to the housetop
The coursers they flew
With a sleigh full of toys
And St. Nicholas, too

Again, with the coursers? What’s with the ten dollar word, Mr. Moore?  You do realize that ‘reindeer’ would’ve worked fine here, too, right?

And then in a twinkling
I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing
Of each little hoof

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

As I drew in my head
And was turning around
Down the chimney St. Nicholas
Came with a bound

A bound??? Now, you’re not even trying.  I’m going to bed.  If you wake them up, YOU deal with it.

He was dressed all in fur
From his head to his foot
And his clothes were all tarnished
With ashes and soot

As Mrs. Claus, I would be so pissed at having to get out ash and soot stains every year.  You know how tired that poor woman probably is by the 26th?  And how do you think the reindeer feel about Santa dressing ‘all in fur?’ That outfit is probably red from years of PETA followers throwing buckets of blood all over the old man.  Santa, ever consider an upgrade? I found this fly red track suit you might be interested in.

A bundle of toys
He had flung on his back
And he looked like a peddler
Just opening his pack

Honestly, if someone fell down my chimney in the middle of the night … his appearance (‘peddler’ or otherwise) … would send me running for the panic button on my house alarm’s keypad.

His eyes how they twinkled
His dimples how merry
His cheeks were like roses
His nose like a cherry

It sounds like you have a terrible case of eczema right now, Santa.  Very common for this time of year.  You really should see a dermatologist about it before it gets any worse.

His droll little mouth
Was drawn up like a bow
And the beard of his chin
Was as white as the snow

Seriously, if you don’t take care of that skin problem, that beautiful beard is going to start falling out in clumps.

The stump of his pipe
He held tight in his teeth
And the smoke, it encircled his head
Like a wreath

I cannot believe you smoked in my house.  Geez, Santa.  It’s 2011. Get some help. http://www.nicodermcq.com/

He had a broad face
And a round little belly
That shook when he laughed
Like a bowl full of jelly

http://jennycraig.com/

He was chubby and plump
A right jolly, old elf
And I laughed when I saw him
In spite of myself

I know, I know.  How many times can I apologize?  I’m sorry.  It’s just that with the bowl-full-of-jelly-thing and the red face … well, YOU try not to laugh.

A wink of his eye
And a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know
I had nothing to dread

I’m not afraid of you, jolly man! … And stop winking at me, creeper.

He spoke not a word
But went straight to his work
And filled all the stockings
Then turned with a jerk

I get this mental picture in my brain every time I hear this line.

And laying his finger
Aside of his nose
And giving a nod
Up the chimney he rose

As a child, I always heard “inside of his nose.” Kleenex, Santa?

He sprang to his sleigh
To his team gave a whistle
And away they all flew
Like the down of a thistle

Sure.  Go ahead, whistle.  My kids have been awake for hours now anyway.

Then I heard him exclaim
As he drove out of sight
Happy Christmas to all
And to all a good night

Well, at least they were awake to hear your good tidings.  But were we the last stop in our neighborhood … or was everyone else naughty?  Shouldn’t you be going to other houses tonight?  Also, are you British?  I love the expression ‘Happy Christmas’ and just wrote about it yesterday.  Did you read my ‘Throw your arms around the World’ post?  (That’s ridiculous. Like Santa has time to read ODNT these days.)

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That Suburban Momma


et cetera
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