Santa’s sleigh vaporized by heavy anti-aircraft fire over New Jersey
‘Twas the week before Christmas
In a room at NORAD
When a spokesman came forward
Crestfallen and sad
“We like to be festive
It’s a season of joy
Spending time with our families
And tracking our boy.
’Our boy’ is, of course
That merry old sprite
Who brings gifts and some cheer
On each cold Christmas night.
It’s been our great honor for years
In this Centennial State
To track dear Kris Kringle
On our scopes across space
But I stand here before you
With news grim and dire
Santa’s sleigh has been lost
To integrated air defense fire
How did this happen?
’Tis a tale to scare
Which begins in New Jersey
No good comes from there
It seems that the denizens
Of that twisted dark den
Saw things in the sky
They could not comprehend
Were they jets?
Were they planets?
Alien ships from afar?
Perhaps drones
Or balloons
Or constellations of stars?
No one quite knew for sure
Though many shared doubts
From mayors to state reps
And dumbass blondes from the South
They lamented and chattered
But soon, one thing was clear
A simple solution:
Shoot that shit from the air
At first, we at NORAD
Thought, “What possible harm?”
From a few Jerseyites
With cheap firearms
They had thirty-twos and thirty-eights
(But six-shooters are mild)
An occasional laser
Airsoft ripped from a child
But then shit got real
On that bleak fateful night
As from Jersey garages
Monsters rolled to street light
Where did Tony Barone
Dig up that Ma Deuce?
No matter—it poured fire
From his modded Ford Coupe
Sammi brought out the Stinger
She’d been saving all year
Pauly rolled out his Dushka
While shot-gunning a beer
Even young Tommy took time
From caressing his dick
To warm up the radar
On his tracked 2S6
Into this fray, unaware,
Did Santa’s sleigh fly
We had no time to warn him
As tracers arced to the sky
Popped Dasher
Crashed Dancer
Bled out Prancer and Vixen
Sliced Comet
Burst Cupid
Burned Donner and Blitzen
In horror, we watched
Viscera fall down from heaven
And Dancer’s carcass take out
A Trenton 7-Eleven
Do you know what a .50-cal
Round does to a body?
Little Sally does now
Finding Comet’s head in her potty
Hemorrhaging and scorched
And missing an arm
Yet Santa turned his wrecked sleigh
Where it would do no harm
That dear elf did his duty
Despite a sky filled with strife
Steered his sleigh at the last
Through the stands of MetLife
Now this tale is ended
And our hearts fill with grief
Jersey killed Christmas
Slayed child-like belief
I offer no hope
I have nothing to say
Save if those drones be true aliens
Fuck, take Jersey away.”
Kay Too Ess Ohhhhh finds your excuses vague and unconvincing.