Santa's Evil Twin
Well, now Thanksgiving is safely past,
more turkey eaten this year than last,
more stuffing stuffed, more jams jammed
into our mouths, and using both hands,
coleslaw in slews, biscuits by twos,
all of us too fat to fit in our shoes.
So let's look ahead to the big holiday
that's coming, coming, coming our way.
I'm sure you know just what I mean
It's not Easter Sunday, not Halloween.
It's not a day to be sad and listless.
I ask you young ladies, what is it-?
Someday soon, we'll put up a tree.
Why only one? Maybe two, maybe three!
Deck it with tinsel and baubles bright.
It'll be an amazing and wonderful sight.
String colored lights out on the roof-
pray none are broken by anything's hoof.
Salt down the shingles to melt the ice.
If Santa fell, it just wouldn't be nice.
He might fracture a leg or get a cut,
perhaps even break his big jolly butt.
Oh, wait! I just heard the terrible news.
Hope it won't give you Christmas blues.
Santa was drugged, tied up, and gagged,
blindfolded, ear-stoppled, and bagged.
His sleigh is waiting out in the yard,
and someone has stolen Santa's bank card.
Soon his accounts will be picked clean
by the use of automatic-teller machines.
Hark, the sound of silver sleigh bells
echoes over the hills and the dells.
And look-reindeer high up in the sky!
Some silly goose has taught them to fly.
The driver giggles quite like a loon-
madman, goofball, a thug, and a goon.
Something is wrong-any fool could tell.
If this is Santa, then Santa's not well.
He hoots, gibbers, chortles, and spits,
and seems to be having some sort of fits.
His mean little eyes spin just like tops.
So somebody better quick call the cops.
A closer look confirms his psychosis.
And-oh, my dears-really bad halitosis!
Beware when Christmas comes this year,
because there's something new to fear.
Santa's twin-who is evil and mean-
stole the sleigh, will make the scene,
pretending to be his good brother.
Guard your beloved children, mother!
Down your chimney, into your home,
here comes that vile psychotic gnome!
Reindeer sweep down out of the night.
See how each is brimming with fright?
Tossing their heads, rolling their eyes,
these gentle animals are so very wise-
they know this Santa isn't their friend,
but an imposter and far round the bend.
They would stampede for all they're worth,
dump this nut off the edge of the earth.
But Santa's bad brother carries a whip,
a club, a harpoon, a gun at his hip,
a blackjack, an Uzi-you better run!-
and a terrible, horrible, wicked raygun.
They land on the roof, quiet and sneaky.
Oh, but this Santa is fearfully freaky.
He whispers a warning to each reindeer,
leaning close to make sure they hear:
"You have relatives back at the Pole-
antlered, gentle, quite innocent souls.
So if you fly away while I'm inside,
back to the Pole on a plane I will ride.
I'll have a picnic in the midnight sun:
reindeer pie, pate', reindeer in a bun,
reindeer salad and hot reindeer soup,
oh, all sorts of tasty reindeer goop.
With all his tools, a way in can be found
for a fat bearded burglar out on the town.
From roof to yard to the kitchen door,
he chuckles about what he has in store
for the lovely family sleeping within.
He grins one of his most nasty grins.
Oh, what a creep, a scum, and a louse.
He's breaking into the Stillwater house.
With picks, loids, gwizzels, and zocks,
he quickly and silently opens both locks.
He enters the kitchen without a sound.
Now chances for devilment truly abound.
He opens the fridge and eats all the cake,
pondering what sort of mess he can make.
He pours the milk all over the floor,
pickles, pudding, ketchup, and Coors.
He scatters the bread-white and rye-
and finally he spits right in the pie.
At the corkboard by the phone and stool,
he sees drawings the kids did at school.
Emily has painted a kind, smiling face.
Charlotte has drawn elephants in space.
The villain takes out a red felt-tip pen,
taps it, uncaps it, chuckles, and then,
on both pictures, scrawls the word 'Poo!'
He always knows the worst things to do.
Mad giggles from him continue to bubble,
while he gets into far greater trouble.
He's hugely more evil than he is brave,
so then after he loads up the microwave
with ten whole pounds of popping corn
(oh, we should rue the day he was born),
he turns and runs right out of the room,
because that old oven is gonna go BOOM!
He prowls the downstairs-wicked, mean-
looking to cause yet one more bad scene.
When he spies the presents under the tree,
he says, "I'll go on a gift-swapping spree!
I'll take out all of the really good stuff,
then box up dead fish, cat poop, and fluff.
In the morning the Stillwaters will find
coffee grounds, peach pits, orange rinds.
Instead of nice sweaters, games, and toys,
they'll get slimy, sticky stuff that annoys.
Charlotte and Emily are up in their beds,
dreams of Christmas filling their heads.
Suddenly a sound startles these sleepers.
They sit up in bed and open their peepers.
Nothing should be stirring, not one mouse,
but the girls sense a villain in the house.
You can call it Psychic, a hunch, osmosis-
or maybe they smell the troll's halitosis.
They leapt out of bed, forgetting slippers,
two brave and foolhardy little nippers.
Something's amiss, young Emily whispers.
But they can handle it-they're sisters!
Down in the living room, under the tree
Santa's evil twin is chortling with glee.
He's gotten a collection of gift replacements
taken from dumps, sewers, and basements.
He replaces a nice watch meant for Lottie
with a nasty gift for a girl who's naughty,
which is one thing Lottie has never been.
Forgetting her vitamins is her biggest sin.
In place of the watch he wraps up a clot
of horrid, glistening, greenish toad snot.
From a package for Emily, he steals a doll
and gives her a new gift sure to appall.
It's oozing, rancid, and starting to fizz.
Not even the villain knows what it is.
In jammies, slipperless, now on the prowl,
the girls go looking for whatever's foul.
Right to the top of the stairs they zoom,
making less noise than moths in a tomb.
They're both delicate, slim, and petite,
and both of them have such tiny pink feet.
How can these small girls hope to fight
a Santa who's liable to kick and to bite?
Are they trained in karate or Tae Kwon Do?
No, no, I'm afraid that the answer is no.
Grenades tucked in their jammie pockets?
Lasers implanted inside their eye sockets?
No, no, I'm afraid the answer is no.
Yet down, down the shadowy stairs they go.
The danger below they can't comprehend.
This Santa has gone far 'round the bend.
He's meaner than flu, toothaches, blisters.
But they're tough too-they're sisters!
