Monday, December 19, 2011

Psycho Christmas Massacre

In the grand tradition of farce, here's a cynical bit of poetry for the Christmas season.  Something of a Bob Dylan meets Frank Zappa, with a little Spike Jones and Weird Al mixed in; it's wild, crazy, and mismatched to reflect the chaos of the season.  Don't be offended by the mad rambling.  Have a merry freakin' Christmas!

Get your shotgun ready
you know it's gonna snow
We've seen the last of
green, green grass
so the end is sure to come.
It's not another solstice,
it's the end of days.
Make sure you've got
your stocking full
before you kneel and pray.

Christmas time's a-coming
get ready to spend, spend, spend.
The world is made of money
so your credit card says.
But watch out when you go shopping
'cause granny's on the warpath.
She needs to buy those new designer jeans
for her grandson in the pen
and you know she's gonna hit you
with her psychedelic bat.

Keep your shotgun ready
to claim that final turkey.
An angry mob of mothers
will take the skin off your back
They'll bludgeon you for kicks
and use your blood
for decoration.

Ho, ho, ho,
You know that's a
hateful thing to say.
Don't you know
the prostitutes now have
a union of their own?
They ain't no hos anymore.
They're all legally licensed for resale.

Santa Claus,
more like Satan's Claws
They don't call 'em sleigh bells
for nothing.
The man in red
will have your head
on a pole to terrorize his elves.
Keep the greenies
sweating in the shop,
cranking out hunks of plastic
laced with lead and arsenic.
You know his workshop was
outsourced to China.
Now he's really red!
No more Rudolph,
they farmed him out
to the butcher's shop,
for no one really knows
if there's a reindeer in the stew.
Beware the store brand;
it may be you you're eating!

Shop 'til you drop
onto the icy pavement slop
and give up your soul and toil
to the man next door
with the mortgage a mile long.
He doesn't care if he sells out
his wife and kids' future to
afford that fifty inch wide screen
so long as he's fat and happy,
he can watch the football game.
Credit is free money
nobody has to pay!

Madmen climbing the wire
of their store-bought prisons.
You know Uncle Sam
would be ashamed
of the farce this world's turned into.
Cats are eating the flesh off
the fingers of the frozen
hobo on the street corner
all for lack of a restaurant.
Dogs are mating under
cardboard boxes in the
alley, beside the lonely
astronaut who's had his
shuttle grounded by the President.
There are cowards in the street
waving switchblades and firecrackers
wishing they were Jesse James
or O.J. Simpson.
There's blood in the air
and smoke in the water
and everyone's crying crocodile tears.
Does anyone really care?
This was Christ's season
once upon a time,
but that's all over now.
Don't forget to pray to your
pagan idols on the stage.
They might put Cocaine in your stocking!

Everyone knows it's the end times,
so make sure your shotgun's loaded
Zombie apocalypse may be
just around the corner.
Just ask the tabloid man.
When it comes down to it
you can never be too ready.
Buy ammo, and whatever comes,
you'll know the score.
Have a happy holiday.

A Merry Christmas to all,
and hope you survive!

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