The Fat Man Cometh And He's Gone Man, Gone

Author Unknown
Early 1960's

'Twas black before Loot Day and all through the pad,
Not a cat was be-boppin', not even old Dad.

The bobby socks dangled from the soot sack real square.
They hoped that old Jelly-Belly soon would be there.

The kids scooped up some nod in their Posturepedic beds,
While visions of hot rods raced through their heads.

And I quit the kitchen with a bourbon nightcap,
And had just hit the sack for a dipso type nap.

When out on the real estate there arose such a rumble,
I cut from the covers to give it a tumble.

I dashed to the glassworks like a jet propelled rabbit,
Without stopping enroute for the nicotine habit.

When what did my whiskey-dimmed eyeballs behold,
But a knocked out old Dad sitting out in the cold.

He was sporting a striped '58 station wagon,
And the back was so loaded the tailgate was draggin'.

As I bugged out the blinkers in total surprise,
He kicked down the gas bar and started to rise.

And as I was swearing off one hundred proof,
I heard his snow treads tearing slates off the roof.

Next the screech of brake shoes, the rattle of junk,
Then something clobbered the hearth with a plunk.

When the dust settled down and I could see through the gloom,
There's a weird looking cat standing there in the room.

He was wearing red knickers with white furry trim.
The boys who write Esquire would have flipped over him.

"May I be a square." I said after a pause,
"By any chance is your moniker 'Claus'?"

"You got me." he admitted, a grin on his fizz,
"But, boy, what a racket this 'Santa' deal is."

"I gotta use wheels though, instead of reindeer.
For out on the freeway they'd look kinda queer.

And the mail I get lately is really a drag,
I bet Presley's records fill half of my bag.

The kids all want zip guns or hot rods that go,
But the older boys want only Marilyn Monroe.

If I wanted to please all the dames in the land,
I'd have to keep a million Liberaces on hand.

But why am I bending your ear with this gab,
For when it's all over, you pick up the tab."

With this final remark he got out the fags,
Then lit up a Lucky and took a big drag.

Up through the smokepipe he went with a flash,
And popped out on the roof with an ear splitting crash.

He spun the ignition and poured on the fuel.
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a cool Yule."