Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house
not a creature was stirring, 'cept me and my mouse.
I was on the computer, catching up on the BROL
and checking out e-bay for bents, after all.
I was all set to bid on a new Action Bent
When I heard a loud noise, to the window I went.
I wiped off the fog and then grabbed for a seat.
The vision I saw made my heart skip a beat.
I came to my senses and felt kind of queasy.
Out yonder was Santa on an ancient Tour-Easy.
He grabbed the red sack with the gifts that he had
tucked away in his trailer; a Burley Nomad.
Ol' Santa was sporting a tight body suit
Of red and white Spandex and a helmet to boot.
He had monstrous calves and thunderous thighs
He was lean as a racer; I rubbed at my eyes.
He went down the chimney and came back in a flash.
He reloaded the Burley with his Christmas gift stash.
He pedaled away with a click and a whir
And was off in the air without much of a stir.
He circled about as I hid near my door.
I knew he'd come this way with my Christmas score.
He shifted it down and then landed with grace.
He parked that old 'Easy three feet from my face.
I could not believe this was Santa's own steed.
The paint was all chipped, only 21 speeds.
There was some kind of box wired up to the frame
I suppose it was magic, but it looked kinda lame.
I gave way to temptation and sat down on the bike.
The seat was a Cobra; I'd not seen the like.
I couldn't help notice that he rode SPD.
I had on my sandals, which was lucky for me.
Without even thinking, I gave her a spin.
I bounce off the curb, to the street with a grin.
I shifted the gears into second then third.
As I sped down the street I felt light as a bird.
I felt rather guilty as I pedaled away.
I'm sure that old Santa had something to say.
With a flick of the wrist and not much of a care
I went to the big ring and into the air.
I sped though the clouds and passed me a jet
Somewhere east of Brooklyn, it was maybe Tibet.
My conscience got to me and by the seat of my pants,
I turned back at Paris, the one that's in France.
The next thing I knew I was circled by elves.
They were riding on 'bents they had built by themselves.
We rode in formation toward my hometown.
They chewed me out good as we went to the ground.
And there stood old Santa, his hands on his hips
He was stewing and fuming; he bit on his lip.
I lowered my head as I neared the old elf.
He was madder than hell; I was ashamed of myself.
He shook his old finger as he spoke out at me
Said I was bad as I'd been since seventy-three.
Them mean little elves took my stunt way too hard.
I found out some later they'd crapped in my yard.
And then I remembered, it was Christmas Eve.
There ought to be presents underneath of my tree.
I ran to the tree and lo and behold,
There was nothing at all, but a big lump of coal.
My eyes filled with tears and my heart with despair
Then I thought of my ride through the Christmas Eve air.
The thrill of the ride was as good as can be
A big chunk of coal won't make a whiner of me.
Since I couldn't do better or worse than I'd done
I decided to make the better of this one.
I wanted to give Santa the last final word.
I yelled "Merry Damned Christmas" and flipped him the bird.
Merry Christmas to all!!
Mark