The Santa Incident Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

It was just before dawn
when St. Nick did arrive
as he stifled a yawn
took a swig to revive
put the bottle away
and with head over heels
crashing down, come what may
(you don't know how it feels) .

As he landed below
in the ashes and fire
he shook off the fresh snow
and brushed off his attire.
He discovered a snag
in the pants near the crotch
quick he stuffed in a rag
and then had some more Scotch.

Now awakened from snores
she came down to the hall
as cold drafts hurt her pores
she then saw that a tall
rather round bearded man
stood in front of the tree
so she called out to Stan
bring the rifle to me
there's a man in the house
and she grabbed the umbrella
heard the steps of her spouse
started hitting the fella
who defended himself
and called up to the sky
for some help from an elf
but when Stan heard the cry
he did lunge in the den
at that moment they'd tripped
and she clucked like a hen
now her nightie was ripped
and his pants had torn more
he was pinning her now
to the carpeted floor.

Now, the size of a cow
is compared to old Stan
rather small and he worked
as a Klabauterman.

Thus he twisted and jerked
'til old Nick had enough
he had beaten the crap
out of Nick's inner stuff.

So St. Nick took a nap
until Easter and past
in the end he went back
and they all were aghast.

So today, with his sack
he goes round and around,
you can always be sure
he can never be found
in a house on his tour
and he wears Levis jeans
to protect against snags
it is also a means
to discourage the fags.

So, the fakes at the Malls
that will sit with the kids
are St. Nicks without balls
they belong in the Ritz.
And the real McCoy
far beyond recognition
brings so many a toy
in the ancient tradition.

In the house of Big Stan
he still snores like a boar
since St. Nick is no fan
he will go there no more.