The Great Christmas Drought
This all goes back just one year ago,
When Lil’ Jane cried for all to know -
Just what she thought of old Saint Nick:
“This Santa’s a liar, a fake and a fink!”
She ripped off his hat
And spit on the ground.
She made a big fuss
And a mob gathered round.
Santa was hurt, understandably so.
He left work early and rushed right home.
He fled up North to drown his woes
In 8 gallons of eggnog - he drank all alone.
He tossed and he turned
He moped and he shrugged
He sulked and he whined
He even mumbled “Humbug.”
“These children are spoiled, rotten and mean;
Cussing and Crying and Kicking and Screamin’.
They all hate Christmas and love Halloween!
They think I’m a phony my work goes unseen!”
He wringed his hands; gave his knuckles a crack.
He let out a cackle that echoed right back.
The elves were all frightened, confused and quivering.
These are the origins of Santa’s Naughty thinking…
The workshop was closed
The elves were kicked out
The stables were sold…
It was a Great Christmas Drought.
Parents were baffled.
Explanations were thin.
The President waffled.
World wide depression set in…
…
December 25th came and went.
No presents arrived ’cause none were sent.
No carols, no turkey, no missal toe kisses.
St. Nick slept late and watched reruns with the misses.
If your stocking was empty you know who to blame.
Lil’ Jane lives at one-two-one Head-Shaker Lane.
Write her a letter; make it perfectly plain:
You believe in Santa Claus, she must be insane.
-Johnny Zito
