Twas the Night Before Christmas (At Sunset Terrace)

The Examiner will be posting several localized versions of your favourite Christmas songs and poems as we approach Christmas Day.

Today, we explore the classic “Twas the Night Before Christmas”, by Clement Clarke Moore

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the town

The tweakers stopped tweaking, they’d all settled down;

The stockings were hung by the space heater with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The parents were drunk, passed out in their beds;

While visions of potted meat danced in their heads;

When out in the street, bass music was pumping;

I sprang from my bed, I was practically jumping.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

If this was a burglar, I was going to kick his ass;

The moon reflected on Terrace Drive so bright;

I knew that this was no ordinary night,

When what to my hung-over eyes did appear,

But a miniature Crown Vic and eight tiny stuffed deer,

With a grumpy old driver so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment he must be my probation officer, Nick.

More rapid than NASCAR I hid all of my dank,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called backup by rank:

“Now, Detective! now, Deputy! now Inspector and Sergent!

On, Sherrif! on, Captian! on, Trooper and Cadet!

On top of the shelf! Inside of the wall!

I hid the reefer, hid it away all!

And then, in a banging, I heard at the door,

The radio dispatch calling all officers and more;

Open up, Open up! I heard him yell,

I sat completely quiet, I was scared as hell;

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down came the door, kicked in with a bound;

Confronting me with avarice, as a looter who loots,

I quoted Mike Brown, “Hands Up, Don’t Shoot!”;

A warrant of search he held at his back,

And his K9 sniffed, he looked ready to attack;

“Your eyes—they look bloodshot! Your home, smells like febreeze

Your cheeks—so sunken! We’ll find cause with ease!

He entered the kitchen, looking in every drawer,

And just as I thought he was finished, he searched some more;

The stem of my pipe he held tight in his hand,

He glared and exclaimed “Young man, explain this contraband!”;

He held a doughnut in hand, he’d taken from the fridge,

This story is getting too long, please allow me to abridge;

He had a broad face and a little round belly

That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a true example of fitness,

Forgive my humor, but I had a witness;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon made me worry, he saw my dreads;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And searched the stockings, gee, what a jerk;

He entered the hallway and searched not a nook,

And admonished me, to stop being a crook;

My stash was safe, I truly felt blessed,

But maybe I should really give this street life a rest;

He walked to his car, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all drove like the launch of a missile.;

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—

Quit breaking the Law, now have a good night!”

00-stoned-santa-13-12-12
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