The Night Before Santacon
By Laura Leu
Twas the night before Santacon, when all through Gotham,
People were buying Christmas costumes, even Jews and Muslims.
The Santa suits were hung on their hangers with care,
In hopes they’d attract slutty elves and reindeer.
The friends were nestled, all snug in their beds,
While visions of tequila shots danced in their heads.
And oatmeal in the crockpot, and eggs in the fridge,
I laid down my head to sleep just a smidge.
When near my head, there arose such a beeping,
I hit the snooze button, I wasn’t done sleeping.
At the second alarm, I flew up like a flash,
To preheat the oven for the breakfast hotdish.
The sun shone through the windows, its rays in my kitchen,
It was barely dawn and things were about to get bitchin’!
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But my group of friends, in their red suits and beards!
With a thirst in their eyes and flasks in-hand,
I knew in a moment we’d be drunk by 11 A.M.
After breakfast and bloody marys, the first bar stop we came,
And we whistled and shouted and called them by name.
“Now, Jim Beam! Now, Grey Goose! Now, Dewars and Cuervo!
On, Coors Light! On, Miller! On Blue Moon and Michelob!
To the tip of our lips! To the bottom of our liver!
Now down the hatch! Down the hatch! Down the hatch quicker!”
And just as we were all getting our groove,
A jolly ol’ fellow said, “Santa’s on the move!”
And we moved and moved and did it all over again,
By mid-afternoon, we were all three sheets to the wind.
We sprang to the subway, stumbled onto the train,
Some championed on, others went home in pain.
And as we rode out of sight, Santa exclaimed with a warning,
“Happy Santacon to all, rehydrate for a hangover-free morning!”
