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Monday, December 20, 2010

A Night Before Christmas

*WARNING* If you're easily offended by people making fun of traditions, don't read this post. This is the version of the Night Before Christmas that had my kids snorting juice out their noses at the dinner table.

Lemme see, I think it was the night afore Christmas. The old wife and I had got all the kids tucked into the bed and we was fixing to do some Christmas celebratin', if you catch my drift, ceptin she started snoring to beat all. So I jest rolled over and shut my eyes.

Somethin landed on the roof with a sound louder than thunder. I grabbed up old Bessy and headed for the front porch. The hounds were a howlin under the porch. I stamped a few times, til the porch threatened to collapse and send me down with the hounds. "What in tarnation? Shet up, Old Blue!"

I didn't see nothin, so I stepped on down. There waren't no snow, cause it don't never snow here. It gets colder than all get out, but it don't never snow. Rain? Buckets of it, but not that night. The moon shone like a giant lightnin bug up in the sky. I turned to get a gander at my roof.

Some idjit parked a sleigh up there! One pulled by a bunch of deer. Stupidest thing I ever did lay eyes on. Them deer just looked at me, like they wuz where they belonged. Deer don't belong on no roof. I raised old Bessy and blasted the front three. They slid off the roof, draggin the rest with 'em. All eight deer landed in a pile, tangled up in the reins. I unloaded another couple buckshot into the mass until it quit twitchin. The sled landed with a big ole crackup. Make good kindlin, I suppose.

I pulled out my huntin knife and set to work on them deer. Bounty like that don't come along too often. I strung 'em up in the shed, then went back for the sleigh.

That's when I heard somebody banging around inside my house. "Fern?" I called, hoping it was just the wife changing her mind. She didn't answer. I snuck up on the door, Old Blue and the other hounds followin at my heels. I eased open the door, careful of the squeaky hinge.

A fat man in a red fur suit was playing in my underwear, hung to dry over the old stove. He was shoving stuff inside, all the while chucklin and a laughin fit to beat all.

"Hey! You! Stop messing with my clothes!" I raised old Bessy.

The fat man stopped. He turned around. "Have you been a good boy, then?"

I didn't want no perv in my house. I clobbered him with the butt end of old Bessy. He dropped like a rock. I dragged his sorry butt outside, rolling him off into the ravine. I had deer to skin.

I finally made it back inside afore the sun rose. Fern blinked her eyes.

"What did Santa bring?" she asked.

I stopped dead in my tracks. Well, too late now. "Lots of venison, sweetheart. Merry Christmas."


  1. My husband requests more colloquialism in the last three paragraphs. =)

    I suggested he go out and collect examples from our neighbors for you, but he thinks that they might be a bit to citified to count. And it's too dark to go find the back wood trailer houses.


  2. I'll have to think up more. Colder than a coon's backside? Smellier than a skunk in a kettle of fish?

    I changed it from the version I told the kids. Somehow, stuffing Santa's body into the outhouse was a little too much...


Keep it clean, keep it nice.