How about a little Christmas treat from the one and only Terry M. West?! This is an awesome piece of poetry that serves as a fine reminder: We all want to be on the “Nice” list!
CECIL & BUBBA MEET SANTA
By Terry M. West
Cecil & Bubba were hunting and drunk.
Both were trying to shake that old holiday funk.
It was a dark, cold and windy night.
It was Christmas Eve, if I remember it right.
With their rifles, Cecil & Bubba made haste.
The venison meat they could already taste.
But both were wasted and out of shape.
The feisty buck made a great, quick escape.
Cecil screamed and pitched a fit,
and he quickly blamed Bubba for all of it.
“You’re stupid and you’re slow and you’re big as a house!
Your knuckles drag and you breathe through your mouth!
I should have done this without you here!
I am out of chew and we got no more beer!”
Cecil turned and angrily stumbled away.
But Bubba wasn’t gonna let him have the last say.
With a devious grin, Bubba shot in the air.
And it gave Cecil a huge drunken scare.
It started a fight and they intended to brawl.
But then something above them gave a panicked call.
They looked up into the cold night sky.
And such a strange sight caught their eye.
Fighting the reins of a plummeting sleigh
Santa was shot, dying and slipping away.
The magical sleigh and its panicked deer crashed.
Into the trees and earth and the lake they splashed.
Cecil & Bubba looked though the smoke and strewn toys.
Creeping slowly and sadly through the debris were the boys.
There were pieces everywhere.
Bloody limbs of all the reindeer.
Pieces of Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen,
Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen
Only Rudolph’s head was left,
his nose was still glowing in all of this mess.
Santa was dead, the steering stabbed through his heart.
Bubba wanted to cry, realizing his part.
“It’s the curse,” Bubba said.
Cecil filled up on dread.
It was the curse for accidentally killing the pet
of an angry old gypsy they’d drunkenly met.
Cecil toughened and gruffly spoke,
and tried not to cough with all of the smoke:
“Well, we could cry and crawl away.
But tomorrow is another damned day.
I say we just leave this like we weren’t here.
And I bet these magic beasts taste better than deer.”
Bubba took his cooler and collected the meat.
He took plenty enough for both men to eat.
Bubba frowned as he worked and said, “What a mess, man.”
But he was getting hungry and he agreed with Cecil’s plan.
Cecil spotted a few collectibles and tucked them away.
He knew he could make a killing that night on Ebay.
So they took what they could, and left in their truck.
And they chalked it all up to the curse and their luck.
But deep in the woods, Santa’s corpse gave a moan.
And he issued a curse to the boys of his own.
He was immortal and would heal and he had a herd of reindeer.
And he would pay a special visit to Cecil and Bubba next year!
There was the bad list and the good list, and the judgment that came.
But Santa’s shit list was not a place where you wanted your name…