Twas the night before Christmas......

[SoulKiss]

A few variants for you.....

1st, The Biker version (ok so cruisers rather than sportsbikes)
Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the pad,
There was nada happenin', now thats pretty bad.
The woodstove was hung up in that stocking routine,
In hopes that the Fat Boy would soon make the scene.

With our stomachs packed with tacos and beer,
My girl and I crashed on the couch for some cheer.
When out in the yard there arose such a racket,
I ran for the door and pulled on my jacket.

I saw a large bro' on a '56 Pan
Wearin' black leathers, a cap, and boots (cool biker, man).
He hauled up the bars on that bikeful of sacks,
And that Pan hit the roof like it was running on tracks.

I couldn't help gawking, the old guy had class.
But I had to go in -- I was freezing my ass.
Down through the stovepipe he fell with a crash,
And out of the stove he came dragging his stash.

With a smile and some glee he passed out the loot,
A new jacket for her and some parts for my scoot.
He patted her fanny and shook my right hand,
Spun on his heel and up the stovepipe he ran.

From up on the roof came a great deal of thunder,
As that massive V-twin ripped the silence asunder.
With beard in the wind, he roared off in the night,
Shouting, "Have a cool Yule, and to all a good ride!"

Then for just for Ed
Whereas, on an occasion immediately
preceding the Nativity festival, throughout a certain dwelling unit,
quiet descended, in which could be heard no disturbance, not even the
sound emitted by a diminutive rodent related to, and in form resembling,
a rat; and

Whereas, the offspring of the occupants had affixed their tubular,
closely knit coverings for the nether limbs to the flue of the fireplace
in expectation that a personage known as St.Nicholas would arrive; and

Whereas, said offspring had become somnolent, and were entertaining re:
saccharine-flavored fruit; and

Whereas, the adult male of the family, et ux, attired in proper
headgear, had also become quiescent in anticipation of nocturnal
inertia; and

Whereas, a distraction on the snowy acreage outside aroused the owner to
investigate; and Whereas, he perceived in a most unbelieving manner a
vehicle propelled by eight domesticated quadrapeds of a species found in
arctic regions; and

Whereas, a most odd rotund gentleman was entreating the aforesaid
animals by their appellations, as follows:

"Your immediate co-operation is requested. Dasher, Dancer, Prancer,
and Vixen; and collective action by you will be much appreciated, Comet,
Cupid, Donder, and Blitzen"; and

Whereas, subsequent to the above, there occurred a swift descent to the
hearth by the aforementioned gentleman, where he proceeded to deposit
gratuities in the aforementioned tubular coverings.

Now, therefore, be ye advised: that upon completion of these acts, and
upon his return to his original point of departure, he proclaimed a
felicitation of the type prevalent and suitable to these occasions, ie:

Merry Christmas to All and to All a Good Night!

For the Cat lovers.... Twas the night before Catmas
When all through the house
Not an animal was stirring,
Not even the mouse.

The kitties were snuggled
And tucked in their beds,
While visions of cat goodies
Danced in their heads.

Their stockings were hung
By the cat bowls with care,
In hope that Father Catmas
Soon would be there.

Out on the rooftop
There arose such a hissing,
I knew Father Catmas
Was having trouble parking.

I jumped on the couch,
Stuck my nose to the curtain.
"Here he is!", I purred
"It is him, I'm certain."

What to my deep blue eyes
Should appear,
But Father Catmas himself
In his Catsled gear.

He purred and he purredred,
But through the kitty door he went,
Then stopped and smelled the air
As he picked up a scent.

The cat cookies we left him
Were by the back door.
The kitties had baked them
Not an hour before.

He went about his work
With never a sigh,
Filling the stockings
With toys piled high.

He waved at me
With his mighty paw.
Although I was hiding,
'Twas my little nose he saw.

Out the kitty door he went
In oh such a rush,
Jumped on his catsled
And yelled out, "MUSH!"

The eight Maine Coon cat team
Were raring to go.
They hated 'stand stay',
Especially in the snow.

I could hear him hissing
As he disappeared that night,
"Merry Catmas to all!
OK team, turn rrrrright!"

And finally, for the Politically Correct Brigade.

Twas the night before Christmas and Santa's a wreck...
How to live in a world that's politically correct?
His workers no longer would answer to "Elves".
"Vertically Challenged" they were calling themselves.
And labor conditions at the north pole
Were alleged by the union to stifle the soul.

Four reindeer had vanished, without much propriety,
Released to the wilds by the Humane Society.
And equal employment had made it quite clear
That Santa had better not use just reindeer.
So Dancer and Donner, Comet and Cupid,
Were replaced with 4 pigs, and you know that looked stupid!

The runners had been removed from his sleigh;
The ruts were termed dangerous by the E.P.A.
And people had started to call for the cops
When they heard sled noises on their roof-tops.
Second-hand smoke from his pipe had his workers quite frightened.
His fur trimmed red suit was called "Unenlightened."

And to show you the strangeness of life's ebbs and flows,
Rudolf was suing over unauthorized use of his nose
And had gone on Geraldo, in front of the nation,
Demanding millions in over-due compensation.

So, half of the reindeer were gone; and his wife,
Who suddenly said she'd enough of this life,
Joined a self-help group, packed, and left in a whiz,
Demanding from now on her title was Ms.

And as for the gifts, why, he'd ne'er had a notion
That making a choice could cause so much commotion.
Nothing of leather, nothing of fur,
Which meant nothing for him.
And nothing for her.

Nothing that might be construed to pollute.
Nothing to aim, Nothing to shoot.
Nothing that clamored or made lots of noise.
Nothing for just girls, or just for the boys.
Nothing that claimed to be gender specific.
Nothing that's warlike or non-pacifistic.

No candy or sweets...they were bad for the tooth.
Nothing that seemed to embellish a truth.
And fairy tales, while not yet forbidden,
Were like Ken and Barbie, better off hidden.
For they raised the hackles of those psychological
Who claimed the only good gift was one ecological.

No baseball, no football...someone could get hurt;
Besides, playing sports exposed kids to dirt.
Dolls were said to be sexist, and should be passe;
And Nintendo would rot your entire brain away.

So Santa just stood there, disheveled, perplexed;
He just could not figure out what to do next.
He tried to be merry, tried to be gay,
But you've got to be careful with that word today.
His sack was quite empty, limp to the ground;
Nothing fully acceptable was to be found.

Something special was needed, a gift that he might
Give to all without angering the left or the right.
A gift that would satisfy, with no indecision,
Each group of people, every religion;
Every ethnicity, every hue,
Everyone, everywhere...even you.

So here is that gift, it's price beyond worth...

May you and your loved ones, enjoy peace on Earth.