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A grumpy old man, who smelled like cheap booze, was hobbling down the street,
A belly as big as the brightly lit moon, dragging along his feet.
The ragged red robe all covered in grime, the fuzzy white beard was drenched in slime.
Mumbling and grumbling constantly about his buzzing head -
'Twas Santa Claus, clumsy and cold, who fell off his sled.
The saint had spent the recent hours trav'ling round the globe,
Squeezing through chimneys and carrying gifts,
Occasionally hiding from impatient kids, in a roomy big wardrobe.
The Christmas wonder was prepared,
All presents at their place.
Santa was happy and thus, declared:
"I'm finished with this chase."
After having done his deeds, he started drinking feverishly.
That's when he noticed in his cart, that he'd missed one delivery.
Loosely banging left and right, it rumbled behind his seat,
A package as heavy and big as a cat - His job was incomplete!
Threat'ning to fall of the wagon, it had him quite alerted.
He acted fast and didn't think, if only he'd had nought to drink,
The catastrophe which shocked him deeply could have been averted:
Santa let go of the reigns
To get hold of the present,
But when he did, he had complaints:
"No balance - how unpleasant!"
All safety issues, he ignored.
He slipped and tumbled overboard.
He fell and fell 10 meters deep -
A distance where there's time to weep.
A thunk, a clunk, and then a thud,
A jab, a smack, a broken leg.
The schlemiel screamed in roaring pain,
And asked himself: "What is this bane?!
Why must this happen? I'll be darned!"
At least, he held the box unharmed.
Too drunk to call the reindeers back,
His prattling met deaf ears.
They kept steady on their track.
Well, after all these years
He would expect more loyalty.
It simply was no good:
Without the reindeers to proceed
He had to walk by foot.
Father Christmas, at his weakest, pulled together in false pride.
With each step his wrinkly grimace, in sharp agony it writhed.
Driving him: a mental image of a boy who's satisfied.
So he wandered wobblingly through the snowy winter night.
When Santa Claus reached staggeringly his final destination,
He knew exactly what to do, expecting no frustration:
"Sneak inside and find the tree, drop the box, turn 'round and flee."
Though when he touched the Christmas tree, he saw the bedroom door
Open up and show the owner - hide, he could no more.
There stood a man, extremely tall. He'd gone to bed much later.
Papissama was what they called him, an administrator.
A shady presence in the dark, unsettling, bulky and with curves,
That's how Santa looked to Papi: "Qui est là - cambrioleur?"
But when he switched his desk lamp on, his worries vaporized.
The intruder, what a godsend, has been recognized.
Return to bed, he sure' could not.
Too excited, he was now.
Unwrapping, ripping off the knot -
Then the admin raised a brow.
What he saw was nicely done:
In front of him, three gifts in one.
A yearly top list of the eighties,
When many gamers still were babies.
Underneath, what did adhere?
The Sega Game Gear - that is clear.
Presenting number 64
Of the great firm Commodore.
"But Three's no good! Where is the fourth?!
You lousy Fail! Head right back north
And bring me what I need so badly!"
Santa was quite clueless, sadly.
"Not having this is just plain wrong.
A gift I planned to gift along,
Addressed to my community.
They asked for this quite oftenly."
"There was no more than that!"
Santa almost bet his hat.
He was so sure-- or was he?
He questioned himself, suddenly.
There was a gift of special care,
The saint remembered now.
He put it underneath his chair
Inside the sleigh and how,
How was he supposed to get it with the reindeers gone?
The guideless wagon must have been already in Saigon.
Right at this grim and hopeless moment,
Things turned quickly fortunate.
Santa forgot one component:
That's his good subordinate.
Feeling up the window sill,
Were a pair of tiny fists
Lifting the frame with impervious will -
Climbing in came the assist.
A short and green-dressed lively figure
Entered Papi's home,
Accompanied by such a snigger -
'Twas a little gnome.
He said he'd slept in Santa's trunk
"That's where it's much more quiet
Than near my moody elven bride:
She's on a frickin' diet."
Awoken by a noisy rattle,
He found a headless carriage.
The fairy creature jumped the saddle,
All filled up with courage.
Not knowing where the owner was,
Trusting Rudolph's intuition,
"Giddy up! To Santa Claus!"
He yelled with much ambition.
Flying in a new direction,
And with him, the gift in question:
Produced with a weighted cough,
Held by the friendly merry elf,
A top list long-awaited, of
The year Two Thous'nd And Twelve.
Leaned onto his helpful elf,
'Twas time to say goodbye.
Santa climbed the sleigh himself -
Back home he would now fly.
Merry Christmas, unikGamer!
Haven't you been entertained well?
A Happy New Year we wish you as well,
Let's hope the next one can compel.
Monday, December 24th, 2012 at 03:59 pm, by WoodrowShigeru.