'Twas the day before the big day,
And all through the planet,
Bloggers were still kvetching,
Despite the urge -- for once -- to just can it.
Tattered socks dangled from the furnace,
while young 'uns waited most earnest,
Visions of video games jostled their heads,
While mom and dad stocked up on their meds.
A grumpy old father suddenly thought,
a better notion of Christmas couldn't be wrought.
"Santa's never been to a gym, let alone on a diet,
He couldn't make it through my garage, and it's bigger
than a Hyatt!"
Mom fretted over the poor, overworked reindeer,
stuck forever in traffic;
Their shiny SUV still wreaking
Dasher hadn't dashed in many a year, Prancer and Vixen
were forever stuck in second gear.
Comet was downsized out of a job,
while Cupid was avoiding the holiday mobs.
That left Donner and Blitzen, always on the run,
still whining that Disney's dwarfs had all the fun.
(Not to mention much more colorful names.)
The elves had been on strike for many a day,
making it easy for old St. Nick to be led astray.
They'd been out for but an hour,
when a thirsty Rudolph suddenly muttered,
"I need a whiskey sour!"
The lead reindeer hung a right on this cold winter night;
After all, it wasn't too far to the next liquor bar.
Just a few sips of booze caused this crew to snooze.
And so when Santa awoke, in his red suit bespoke, he simply said,
"I won't shed but a tear 'cause there's always next year."