clement clarke moore is rolling in his grave right about now...

'Twas two days after Christmas, and all 'round Camp Cactus

Not a creature was stirring...they were all out of practice;

The stockings were emptied, the presents unwrapped,

Just recycling the paper left our energy sapped.

Girl child and puppy cuddled snug in a chair,

Whilst commercials on TV continued to blare;

And Poppa in his rocker, a cat in his lap,

Had just settled down for a little nightcap,

When out on the porch there arose such a clatter,

Cat sprang from his perch, sending cocktail a-splatter.

Away to the basement he flew like a flash,

As the dogs began barking and got into the trash.

While he hid in the basement, an unearthly light

Lit up our street like Las Vegas at night,

Then, all of a sudden we heard a Bronx cheer,

As the neighbor's bright decor again did appear,
With rope lights and candy canes, and icicles galore,

They had no competition, that was for sure.

(photo borrowed from these guys)

More brilliant than searchlights, those ornaments were,

And they blinked and played music and caused quite a stir;

Blow up Snowman and Snoopy and reindeer aplenty,

And penguins, I swear there were as many as twenty!

Then the cars came! And vendors! And people on foot!

I found myself wishing Christmas would go kaput!

Our street filled with gawkers and kids by the dozens,

All with their cellphones, taking pictures of cousins.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard in the sky,

A TV news 'copter in a prime-time fly-by.

As I closed all the curtains and turned my head 'round,

Through the door a reporter burst in with a bound;

He was dressed in a parka, his news station's logo 

Emblazoned all over, from his head to his big toe;

A microphone clutched in his hand like a club,

The former top newsman was now a poor schlub; 

His eyes -- they looked haunted! his complexion, how scary!

His cheeks were all puffy, his nose like a cherry!

His mouth was a grimace, drawn up like a bow,

And his teeth, oh! his teeth, they were whiter than snow!

The poor man was a wreck, hadn't slept in a week;

And the stress, it showed up in his flabby physique.

He had a broad face and a big ol' round belly,

And his nerves made it shake like a bowl full of jelly.

He was chubby and bent, a right shaky old elf

And I gasped when I saw him, in spite of myself;  

A tick in his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know he was just filled with dread;

He asked all his questions, finished his interview,

And fulfilled his damn duty to me and to you,

And laying his microphone down by the door,

He escaped out the back to be seen never more;

But I heard him exclaim, as he fled from the lights,

"Happy Christmas, my ass! This holiday bites!"

with apologies to Clement Clarke Moore