Two years ago, I wrote a post called ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas (Mystery Science 3000-style). Last year, I followed up that post with a new one called ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas – Take TWO! Can I find enough material to revisit this classic Clement Moore poem a THIRD time? I’ll let you be the judge.
Merry Christmas, my friends!
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‘Twas the night before Christmas
When all through the house
Not a creature was stirring
Not even a mouse
- Um, Mr. Moore. How were you, as a PARENT, not stirring on Christmas Eve? Wait. It’s because MRS. Moore was running herself ragged, mincing the meats, darning the stockings and killing the fatted calf that night, huh? While YOU sat in your study smoking your pipe and writing this poem. Typical.
The stockings were hung
By the chimney with care
In hopes that St. Nicholas
Soon would be there
- Is it weird that the cat in my house has TWO stockings? *I* don’t have two stockings. And I haven’t bitten anybody, crapped on the floor or torn things up with my teeth in AT LEAST a year. Hello?
The children were nestled
All snug in their beds
While visions of sugar plums
Danced in their heads
- Does anyone know if sugar plums are chewy? Because they sound like gummy candy to me. And with one kid in braces and the other about to be, I’d like to start planting visions of bananas, oatmeal and other soft, non-damaging snacks in their heads.
And mama in her kerchief
And I in my cap
Had just settled our brains
For a long winter’s nap
- You know how they say satin pillow cases are better for your hair? Well, how’s this for a million dollar idea? Satin kerchiefs! Because a pillow case only touches one side of your hair but a kerchief touches both simultaneously. Ooh! Or what about a satin TURBAN? It would cover every square inch of your hair. Plus it still fits in your poem. “And mama in her turban and I in my cap …”
When out on the lawn
There arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed
To see what was the matter
- Sprang?!!? But I’m soooo tired. Where’s my sleep mask? And my ear plugs? Maybe if I just ignore it, it’ll go away.
Away to the window
I flew like a flash
Tore open the shudders
And threw up the sash
- Seriously, I JUST said I wasn’t springing, so I’m sure as hell not flying anywhere either. Wake up, Dave. It’s YOUR time to tear sashes and throw shudders and whatever else this fool says we have to do.
The moon on the breast
Of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of midday
To objects below
- WTF? Snow?!!? This is New Orleans, Mr. Moore. If I’m lucky, our temps “plummet” to the 50s on Christmas Eve. So, at BEST, we’ll have reflections of the moon in the standing puddles that are currently breeding mosquitos on my poorly-paved street.
When what to my wondering
Eyes should appear
But a miniature sleigh
And eight tiny reindeer
- As a kid, I always felt like Rudolph was cheated in this stanza. As an adult, I know it’s because this poem was written long before the classic reindeer tale, but I still like to pretend Rudolph was just around the side of the house recharging his nose or taking a leak.
With a little old driver
So lively and quick
I knew in a moment
It must be St. Nick
- I don’t like calling him Nick. He’s SANTA. S-A-N-T-and-oh-yeah-A. So, I think it’s time to update this part and I have a few suggestions. How about “With a little old driver who hailed from Atlanta, I knew in a moment that it must be Santa” OR “With a little old driver just chugging his Fanta …” That second one might actually earn him a sponsorship for the night. Product placement!
More rapid than eagles
His coursers they came
And he whistled and shouted
And called them by name
- Actually, wouldn’t eagles have made more sense? They already fly. No magic corn (or whatever mystical voodoo he uses) needed. Plus, they’re supposed to be crazy strong. And ruthless little bastards. That’s got to be a good thing where Santa’s safety is concerned, right?
Now Dasher, Now Dancer
Now Prancer and Vixen
On Comet, On Cupid
On Donner and Blitzen
- Here’s a thought, Mr. Moore. As long as you’re making up names, why not create two that actually rhyme? ViXen and BlitTZen? Say it aloud with me. Seriously, you can’t hear the difference?
To the top of the porch
To the top of the wall
Now dash away, dash away
Dash away all
- What wall? How can they be on top of a wall? A wall is vertical and almost always has a roof attached to it. With the Berlin Wall down, the only place where this wording makes sense is in China. Are you chinese, Mr. Moore? If so, I’m guessing only your mom was Chinese because Moore doesn’t sound like an Asian name to me.
As dry leaves that before
The wild hurricane fly
When they meet with an obstacle
Mount to the sky
- Okay, Clement … may I call you Clement? … I’m making an executive decision to omit this stanza completely. It’s boring. The story loses its momentum here and you risk losing your readers. I want you to try something for me. Read the stanza before it and then immediately go into the one after it. The flow is much better, don’t you think?
So up to the housetop
The coursers they flew
With a sleigh full of toys
And St. Nicholas, too
- I’ll admit “Nicholas” is much better than “Nick.” Still, I think we need to update to Santa. Listen and learn. “With a sleigh full of toys and hey! Santa Claus, too.” OR “With a sleigh full of toys and damn! Santa Claus, too!” Obviously, we can dial that single syllable exclamation up as much as you like to fit the occasion.
And then in a twinkling
I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing
Of each little hoof
- I’ve never heard the word twinkling used as a noun anywhere but in your poem, Clement. I was curious so I Googled it. And the way you’re using it is described as “archaic” meaning it’s obsolete and behind the time. Like “kerchief” and “coursers.” (sigh) You and I have a date with urban dictionary soon to bring this thing up to code, okay?
As I drew in my head
And was turning around
Down the chimney St. Nicholas
Came with a bound
- Try as I might, I still don’t understand how this tradition got started. Not everyone has a chimney. But EVERYONE has a door. And windows. Seriously, can you imagine if everyone had to use that entrance to get into the house?!!?.
He was dressed all in fur
From his head to his foot
And his clothes were all tarnished
With ashes and soot
- Wouldn’t a fur suit be a HUGE slap in the face to the reindeer? I smell a mutiny.
A bundle of toys
He had flung on his back
And he looked like a peddler
Just opening his pack
- Lift with your legs, Santa!
His eyes how they twinkled
His dimples how merry
His cheeks were like roses
His nose like a cherry
- Is it just me or does Santa sound like a pretty attractive dude?
His droll little mouth
Was drawn up like a bow
And the beard of his chin
Was as white as the snow
- “Beard of his chin?” That’s kind of reaching to make it fit, Clement. Where the hell else would his beard be? Unless that’s not the kind of BEARD you meant. OMG, is Mrs. Claus his “Katie Holmes?”
The stump of his pipe
He held tight in his teeth
And the smoke, it encircled his head
Like a wreath
- Sure. Santa’s got the twinkling eyes and rosy cheeks but I bet his smoker’s teeth look like crap.
He had a broad face
And a round little belly
That shook when he laughed
Like a bowl full of jelly
- Dear Mr. Depp, Please accept my most sincere apologies for likening you to this man. Had I read the poem further, I never would have slandered you in this way. Your Friend, Michele
He was chubby and plump
A right jolly, old elf
And I laughed when I saw him
In spite of myself
- That is one big ass elf.
A wink of his eye
And a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know
I had nothing to dread
- Was there ever a reason to DREAD Santa Claus? That’s just a tad dramatic. Let’s take the crazy down a few notches. How about “A wink of his eye as he scurried about, I wondered what I was so worried about.” I think we can both agree that’s WAY better.
He spoke not a word
But went straight to his work
And filled all the stockings
Then turned with a jerk
- Honestly, he was a little rude. He completely ignored me. Ever heard of muli-tasking, Santa? I’m supposed to believe it’s impossible for you to say hi while putting some crap in a sock?
And laying his finger
Aside of his nose
And giving a nod
Up the chimney he rose
- Is that sign language? Oh, crap. Is possibly-Chinese, possibly-gay Santa also possibly deaf? God, I am SUCH an ass.
He sprang to his sleigh
To his team gave a whistle
And away they all flew
Like the down of a thistle
- Look at that. The old man is springing. Something I myself wouldn’t do earlier in this poem. Way to make me feel lazy, Santa.
Then I heard him exclaim
As he drove out of sight
Happy Christmas to all
And to all a good night
- Oh, okay! So he’s NOT deaf! He’s just rude. Is there some reason you couldn’t have wished me these good tidings while we were actually looking at each other IN THE FACE, old man?
Oh, and the last time I checked, this was AMERICA.
And we say MERRY Christmas here, comrade.
OldDogNewTits 