Monday, December 19, 2016

Happy [Insert Name Here]!

The following is a repost from several years ago.  Well, I wrote it several years ago.  And I put it on Blogger last year and...the year before that.  And before that.  I think.  As is my wont, though, I updated it a little bit (just to see if anyone was paying attention).

Incidentally, I just checked my audience statistics.  As of right now:
Russia:  41
United States:  5

I really may have to do something about this after the first of the year.

But, until then, on with the reruns!

Incidentally, I gotta think this guy would be
on some kind of list somewhere nowadays.

Have a Holly Jolly, Politically Correct Christmas Holiday
C. Clement Moore (?)

With apologies to Major Henry Livingston, Jr.:*

Twas the Night Before December 25th

‘Twas the night before December 25th, when all through the place of residence (be it house, teepee, shopping cart, or refrigerator carton).
Not a creature was stirring, not even the undocumented  (who have every right to live and get free college).
The government-issued condoms were hung by the chimney with care,
in hopes that a federal official soon would be there.

The children of the multi-diverse family unit were nestled by Family Services all snug in their beds,
while visions of non-dairy, non-sugar, non-peanut, non-caffeine, non-fat, non-transfats, non-threatening tofu plums danced “With the Stars” in their heads.
And my life partner in a hyperbaric chamber and I in my neoprene bubble
had drifted to sleep, with nary any trouble.

When out on the roof there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed (which I selfishly bought at IKEA while millions slept on grates), to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I feared that I’d spy
A Weiner, a Warren, that Bernie Sanders guy.

The moon, on the Miley Cyrus breast of the new-fallen snow
gave the luster of midday to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but a “little people” sleigh and eight height-challenged reindeer.

With a stature-limited seasoned-citizen driver, so lively and quick,
I knew it must be that Person of Androgynous Reknown, Nikita, Nick...
or some Republican prick.
More rapid than endangered eagles, her/his coursers they came
and she/he whistled and shouted and called them by name (though not as subservients, but rather as equals in the mutual exchange of commerce).

“Now Twerker! Now Grandma!
John Kasich and Nixon!
Obama! Joe Biden!
Paul Ryan! Bill Clinton!
To the top of the porch!
To the top of the wall!
Now, dash away, but only if you’re physically able and don’t feel threatened by it all!”

As dry heaves after the frat party fly,
(and that one in the Girls Room is really a guy),
so to the subsidized housing the hoofed business partners
with a sleigh full of capitalist loot stolen from me and from you!

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
the prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, I turned and I saw
Nikita/Nick and her/his attorney-at-law.

She/he was dressed in synthetic fur, from her/his head to her/his foot,
and her/his clothes were all tarnished with the tracings of soot on her/his tush,
a carcinogen and by-product of the evil exploitation of majestic trees by Bush.
A bundle of toys she/he had tossed in a sack
and I KNEW I was liable if she/he busted her/his back!

But, there was no worry, I had not a care!
Oh, crap, what did you say?
She/he had Obamacare!?

Her/his eyes--how they twinkled!  Her/his dimples, how merry!
Her/his cheeks like BOTOX balloons, her/his nose like a cherry!
It was obvious with him/her I should not be alone
this creepy, suspicious Sandusky clone.
Her/his droll little mouth was drawn up no, not in a frown
from some anonymous, “tsk-tsking” government clown.
The stump of a pipe she/he had just for effect
as she/he showed me her/his nicotine patch on her/his neck.
She/he had a broad face and a little round belly
that shook when she/he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.

(NOTE: the American Medical Association strongly urges a lifestyle which eliminates the existence of “little round bellies”, as they may lead to diabetes, high blood pressure, tourettes, heart attack, an “unfresh” feeling, stroke, erectile dysfunction, skin rashes, halitosis, driving heavy equipment while drowsy, and rickets.)

She/he was chubby and plump (see NOTE above), a right jolly old fairy/troll/forest nymph/dwarf/Michael Moore/multi-diverse personage of varying-yet valuable-ethnic persuasion/wood sprite/Rosie/Oprah/elf,
and I laughed when I saw her/him, in spite of myself (although, to avoid being sued, I said I was laughing “with”, not “at”, her/him).
A wink of her/his eye and a twist of her/his head
soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

She/he spoke not a word, but went straight to her/his work
and filled all the condoms, when allowed by her/his attorney-the aforementioned jerk.
The gifts, she/he explained, were crafted by midgets
Err...”little people” those over-sensitive fidgets.
To insult them, she/he knew, will just make them sour
When, after New Years, they return to work
at McDonalds for less than fifteen an hour.

Before he/she left, he/she scratched his/her head.
Were the children herein American, born and bred?
He/she smiled, he/she wasn’t stumped.
There’d surely be no trouble from President Trump.

And laying her/his finger on the side (not in) of her/his nose,
and giving a nod, up the chimney/window/teepee smoke hole she/he rose.
She/he sprang to her/his sleigh, to her/his team gave a whistle,
and they mutually agreed in committee to fly as equals away like the down of a thistle.
But, I heard her/him exclaim, ‘ere she/he drove out of sight.

“Happy Non-Sectarian Day-of-Observance-Which-Has-Nothing-To-Do-With-An-Established-Creed-Or-Dogma-of-Faith-Because-That-Would-Be-a-Heinous-Violation-of-the-Sanctity-of-the-Separation-of-Church-and-State-Because-What-About-the-Children-Dammit!? and to all a mutually-satisfying (as agreed upon in writing. In triplicate. By the ACLU.) night!”    

    *Evidently, Clement Clark Moore is the 19th century equivalent of the New York Times’ Jayson Blair**.  A classic since its 1823 appearance in the Troy Sentinel, ‘A Visit From St. Nicholas’ (as it was alternately known) was claimed by Moore as his own in 1837, conveniently after Livingston had passed away.  In fact, Moore, who wasn’t known by any other poem, incorporated the work into one of his own books, Poems, in 1844!  So, the next time you’re tempted to fret and bemoan our lack of journalistic scruples, just remember Moore’s response when asked if he had, indeed, written this most-famous of Yuletide poems:  “Uh, yeah, whatever.”
    Or, so I’ve read on the Internet.  Because, after all, if it’s there, it must be true! 

**Like I said, this is a repost, so the inclusion of Jayson Blair may leave you scratching your head.  Mr. Blair was pinched several years ago for being a plagiarist.  A plagiarist, of course, is someone who tries to pawn off someone else’s work as his own without giving credit to the actual author.  You know, a lot like Joe Biden.  There, how ‘bout that?  Timely and funny.

***I’m not so sure this is very timely anymore.  But, I managed to include a “twerking” reference.  You’re welcome.

****Is “twerking” even timely anymore?

By the way, this is the 1,000th post from Penwasser Place.  And it's a rerun.  I guess I should pay closer attention to these kind of things, huh?


  1. Not bad, Penwusser. Not bad at all––except the way that Santa stares at the kids tells me he's definitely a pedophile. What other kind of guy gets a job at a mall that allows him to hold little kids against his prick? Happy One Thousandth!


    1. And now? I will NEVER be able to get that thought of Mall Santas out of my head! :-)

  2. Well I know President Trump was a change from last year. Unless you were psychic, in which case, you may want to get new powers after foreseeing that. 1000 is grand, congrats indeed!

    1. He was. I mean, after all, he's Time's 'Orange Person of the Year.'

  3. " the Miley Cyrus breast of the new-fallen snow"

    Might I guess that this is a light snow, as opposed to say a Dolly Parton breast of snow?

    1. Or maybe Caitlyn Jenner?
      But, then I'd have to mention it was fake snow.

  4. Replies
    1. Thanks! I guess I'm a little wiseguy, huh?

  5. I've come to expect a fun holiday post from you and you never disappoint. Take care and Happy Holidays.

  6. Putin is watching all of us, after-all we just elected him as our president.

    1. Every time I look at my audience stats, I concur.

  7. I remember that one! I don't think it's PC enough anymore though...

  8. You could have used Melania Trump for your plagiarist, to update this, but it was thoroughly enjoyable.

    1. Nuts!!!! That would have been great. Wished I remembered it.

  9. congrats on 1000 even including re-posts. But there's enough new stuff. Glad you threw in a Bernie for Robyn. You outdid yourself. Poor Clement Moore is rolling in his grave....with laughter!

    1. Funny you should say that. I DID throw Bernie in for Robyn!

  10. Poor Bernie...we will miss him:) This retelling is just priceless and I love it. happy 1,000!

  11. Re-runs are good, don't always remember the post, why I don't know 1000 posts is nothing to sneeze at just saying

  12. Congrats on the 1000th post. That's major.

    Did you know there was/is a contest to rewrite this poem (sort of)? You've got it done, so perhaps you should enter. If I knew who it was, I would link to it. (Very useful, aren't I?)

  13. This is the ultimate holiday poem that everyone can enjoy. Except perhaps those who have to read it aloud. God damn it's beautiful.