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'Twas Florida Christmas, in the
Danforth house,
I wrapped my bride's present: maternity blouse.
The wheat buns were piled by the gas grill with care,
In hope meatless burgers soon would be there.
Mosquitoes were nestled, all snug in their trees,
With encephalitis, a horrid disease.
Kelly in my T-shirt and I in my sweats,
Were cursing Drew Bledsoe, and our stupid bets.
When out on the porch there arose such a clatter,
It scared me so much I grew even madder.
Kel's girlfriends arrived for a baby shower,
The Patriots fumbled, my mood it was sour.
The dew on the leaves of our Christmas palm tree,
Was it caused by the heat, or humidity?
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
Salvation Army Santa, reeking of beer.
"I'm here for the shower," he said with a slur,
He gave us frankincense, some gold and some myrrh,
"I followed the bright light, so where is the
child?"
I shrugged both my shoulders, as he became riled.
Just as the Dolphins were breaking their huddle,
I realized the light had been the Space Shuttle.
"Our child is no savior," I said to Saint Nick,
"But, thanks for the gold, now leave here real
quick."
He trekked through the woods in search of a manger,
Ignoring the signs that warned him of danger.
He yelled out so loud, "I will be back later,"
And promptly became a snack for a gator.
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The gnawing of termites, I acted aloof.
In walked my pal Jane, she is quite the looker,
My new wife distrusts her, because she's a hooker,
All dressed in fur, from her head to her toes,
Unaware of the heat, or animal's woes.
I heard the girls squeal and was turning around,
Bledsoe was charged with an intentional ground.
A bundle of gifts Jane pulled off her shoulder,
Breast pumps and Pampers; a snap to the holder.
A huge pooper scooper, to clean rover's slime,
The kick missed by a mile, we'd have overtime.
The women all gorged on rich Christmas sweets,
I wished I could dive, head first in the treats.
Diet was shrinking my once rotund belly,
Unlike the gut of my pregnant wife Kelly.
But she will be skinny again come next May,
While I'll pass for Santa way past Christmas day.
But that was just fine, I muttered to myself,
Better tall Santa, than a bulimic elf.
I counted on Yule time, when wishes came true,
A new car was riding on Patriot Drew.
My chances were better to wear the Dutch crown,
A fact that was proven--a Dolphin touchdown!
We drowned all our sorrows, in a big fruit cake,
We said bye to our car--my body by Jake.
To make us feel better, we screamed to the night,
Happy Christmas to all, the Patriots bite!! |
