A Politically Correct Christmas Poem

Twas the night before Christmas and Santa's a wreck...
How to live in a world that's politically correct?
His workers no longer would answer to "Elves",
"Vertically Challenged" they were calling themselves.
And labor conditions at the North Pole,
were alleged by the union, to stifle the soul.

Four reindeer had vanished without much propriety,
released to the wilds, by the Humane Society.
And equal employment had made it quite clear,
that Santa had better not use just reindeer.
So Dancer and Donner, Comet and Cupid,
were replaced with 4 pigs, and you know that looked stupid!

The runners had been removed from his beautiful sleigh,
because the ruts were deemed dangerous by the EPA,
And millions of people were calling the Cops,
when they heard sled noises upon their roof tops.
Second-hand smoke from his pipe, had his workers quite frightened,
and his fur trimmed red suit was called "unenlightened".

To show you the strangeness of today's ebbs and flows,
Rudolf was suing over unauthorized use of his nose.
He went to Geraldo, in front of the Nation,
demanding millions in over-due workers compensation.

So...half of the reindeer were gone, and his wife
who suddenly said she'd had enough of this life,
joined a self help group, packed and left in a whiz,
demanding from now on that her title was Ms.

And as for gifts...why, he'd never had the notion
that making a choice could cause such commotion.
Nothing of leather, nothing of fur...
Which meant nothing for him or nothing for her.
Nothing to aim, Nothing to shoot,
Nothing that clamored or made lots of noise.
Nothing for just girls and nothing for just boys.
Nothing that claimed to be gender specific,
Nothing that's warlike or non-pacifistic.

No candy or sweets...they were bad for the tooth.
Nothing that seemed to embellish upon the truth.
And fairy tales...while not yet forbidden,
were like Ken and Barbie, better off hidden,
for they raised the hackles of those psychological,
who claimed the only good gift was one ecological.

No baseball, no football...someone might get hurt,
besides - playing sports exposed kids to dirt.
Dolls were said to be sexist and should be passe.
and Nintendo would rot your entire brain away.

So Santa just stood there, disheveled and perplexed,
he just couldn't figure out what to do next?
He tried to be merry he tried to be gay,
but you must have to admit he was having a very bad day.
His sack was quite empty, it was flat on the ground,
nothing fully acceptable was anywhere to be found.

Something special was needed, a gift that he might,
give to us all, without angering the left or the right.
A gift that would satisfy - with no indecision,
each group of people in every religion.
Every race, every hue,
everyone, everywhere...even you!
So here is that gift, it's price beyond worth...


"MAY YOU AND YOUR LOVED ONES, ENJOY PEACE ON EARTH"

Santa's Ode

'Twas the night before Christmas--Old Santa was pissed.
He cussed out the elves and threw down his list.
Miserable little brats, ungrateful little jerks.
I have a good mind to scrap the whole works!

I've busted my ass for damn near a year.
Instead of "Thanks Santa"--what do I hear?
The old lady bitches cause I work late at night.
The elves want more money--The reindeer all fight.

Rudolph got drunk and goosed all the maids.
Donner is pregnant and Vixen has AIDS.
And just when I thought that things would get better,
Those assholes from the IRS sent me a letter.
They say I owe taxes--if that ain't damn funny
Who the hell ever sent Santa Claus any money?

And the kids these days--they all are the pits.
They want the impossible--Those mean little shits.
I spent a whole year making wagons and sleds,
Assembling dolls...Their arms, legs and heads.
I made a ton of yo yo's--No request for them,
They want computers and robots...they think I'm IBM!

Flying through the air...dodging the trees,
Falling down chimneys and skinning my knees,
I'm quitting this job there's just no enjoyment.
I'll sit on my fat ass and draw unemployment.

There's no Christmas this year now you know the reason,
I found me a blonde. I'm going SOUTH for the season

A Christmas Poem by Paul Gilmartin

A Christmas Poem by Paul Gilmartin

Eggnog, tinsel, falling snow

Buttered rum and mistletoe

Christmas trees and hanging lights

The sound of carolers fills the night

Shopping hours long and hard

Visa phones and cancels card

Unpaid bills and mounting debts

Family gathers; depressions sets

Drinking starts, harsh words are said

Dysfunction rears its yuletide head

Argument turns to shovin'

Drunken brother punches cousin

Tree tips over, popping lights

Curtains catch, house ignites

No one hears the reindeer cries

Wedged in chimney, Santa dies

Though he kicked and did perspire

His chestnuts roasted on an open fire

Circus Love by Paul Gilmartin

I make no claim to the following. It’s a poem by comedian Paul Gilmartin. I heard it again on the Bob and Tom show recently and it cracked me up, so I thought I’d share it with you. If you enjoy it, check out the Bob and Tom site or Paul Gilmartin’s site for more humor just like it…

“Last call,” announced the barkeep
and then their eyes did meet.
Betty the Bearded Lady
and Tom the Four-inch Freak.
Tom lowered his voice and made a pass,
“What’re you doin’ later?”
Betty thought as she stroked her beard,
“Nothin’ sweet potater.”
People pointed, jokes were made,
but it fell on four deaf ears.
Tom thrust his tiny shoulders back,
and ignored the painful jeers.
“Betty,” he said, “The world can be
such a cruel, unfeeling place.”
She said, “I know my little punkin’,”
and kissed his tiny face.
She carried him through the parking lot,
to the woods that lay beyond.
Never before had either felt
such an instant common bond.
“Betty,” he said, gazing down at his tiny platform shoe,
“Tonight I would like nothing more
than to make sweet love to you.”
She said, “I’m a virgin.”
He said, “So am I.”
She said, “Don’t you think that’s weird?”
He said, “Not really, I’m four inches tall
and, you know, you’ve got the beard.”
She pressed him tight against her bosom,
he inhaled her perfumed air.
He covered her neck with tiny hickies,
and stroked her facial hair.
The moonlight danced off his cowboy hat,
she giggled and she swayed.
She undid his tiny rhinestone belt.
A cricket looked away.
She set him down, unzipped her dress,
still tipsy from the booze.
She tripped pulling off her panties,
and crushed him with her shoes.
Bearded Betty never married.
Her mistake sure took its toll.
She still owns that pair of shoes,
and Tom’s still in her sole.


Blogger's Note: The picture above is what I think Betty and Tom's kid would have looked like...

Sister Joan By Paul Gilmartin

Sister Joan, age 54, ignores the desert sun,
The stranded church bus smoking, no sign of anyone.
Buzzards circle overhead, panic starts to set.
The kids are getting restless, her habit soaked with sweat.
The minutes become hours, she wobbles in the heat.
Then, a distant engine roars, approaching from the East.
She squints through horn-rimmed glasses, her pure heart skips a beat.
Snake McGinty's Harley Hog, parts the dusty heat.
Black leather-clad from head to toe, his eyelids barely open,
Sister Joan says, "Holy Ghost, please tell me that you're joking."
He parks his bike, stands six foot four, then gives her a nod.
Through leather pants his manhood shows, she rolls her eyes at God.
"Havin' trouble?", he barely mumbles. "Yes sir", she replies.
He pops the hood, takes off his shirt, she covers up her eyes.
"Kids", she says, "Back on the bus. Everyone be good."
Her fingers part, her eyes take in his reflection off the hood.
She grips her rosary tight with guilt and stares down at her socks.
Her mind protects her vows with God, but her body picks the lock.
He bends to check the fan belt, her nipples say, "Hello".
Her eyes climb up his leather chaps like a snail with vertigo.
She shuts her eyes and shakes her head, her legs start feeling funny.
"Lord", she says, "For work like this, I'm making shitty money."
He shuts the hood, "My name is Snake, I'm wanted in five states."
She said, "Snake you're my forbidden fruit, and I need a little taste."
The kids look on in disbelief. The kiss is slow, then faster.
Cheering rocks the school bus, till she says "Snake let's ditch these bastards.
As they left, the kids screamed "No", she turned around and waved.
Her next confession killed a priest and lasted seven days.
For years the scandal rocked the church, but she regained their trust.
She still teaches Sunday school, but she doesn't drive the bus.

Finding The Emmy On General Hospital - The Emmy APB

in rewatching the episodes from this past week on Soapnet, I got inspired. This poem is a special nod to GH for cunningly inserting the Emmy award into EVERY set on at the start of the week. Some people found it pretentious and said it was "overkill", but I found it to be fun and funny. Where else do you get to see a broacast version of "where's waldo'?

APB for the Lady Emmy

The Lady is shiny, golden and lean.
Here is a list of where she's been seen...

In the front seat of Claudia's car
She shone as bright as a morning star.

She was noticed outside Jax and Carly's home,
She stood on their front porch, all alone.

Miss Emmy was seen in a holding cell,
I wonder what she did to end up in jail...?

At Stone Cold's apartment she was able
To watch Spin diddle Maxi from Jason's pool table.

She was spotted in the foyer of Kate's domain
And watched both couples dueling (again).

Then, over in Anthony's expensive hell-pit
On his bookcase the lovely Emmy did sit.

She later showed up in Lulu's room,
And watched her wrap herself in doom.

She hid out with Robin on the floor
Behind the nurse's desk so Anna could score.

The only place I was unable to find her
Was at Jake's snuggled next to bottles liquor.

After being seen on the bureau in Johnny's place,
It's safe to say PC is Emmy's home base!


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