The following poem is based on a true story. Believe me, I would not make this shit up. My apologies to Clement Clark Moore.
A Visit from Saint Vitus*
‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house;
Our family was anxiously awaiting the Klaus.
All together up North, almost in the U.P.;
We were all having fun, and laughing with glee.
When all of a sudden it came to a stop;
“It’s time to go, kids,” said my hubby (their pop).
So the kids started packing, and put on their caps;
They’d have to wait a while for their long winter’s naps.
Though months had passed since we had this plan,
Right at the last minute their mom said, “No, Anne.”
I will schedule my own plans, and disregard yours;
And with that ballsy move, my jaw dropped to the floors.
I’ve scheduled a train trip, she smiled with glee;
So I’ll need the kids just a bit ear-ly.
See this is what happens when you deal with divorce;
And sometimes the rules are hard to enforce.
We thought of the kids, so they left on vacation;
They’d meet with their mom, up at some gas station.
My husband would travel and meet her half way;
But little did he know he needed a sleigh.
A snowstorm broke out, so the roads were pretty slick;
In fact the whole ride almost made him real sick.
When out on the Honda there arose such a clatter;
Dan checked out the car to see what was the matter.
He couldn’t drive home, of that he was sure;
He just knew more crap he had to endure.
His ex had been safe; no snow did she find;
And now he was stuck, just sitting on his hind.
But now it was Christmas, and strangers are good;
“I’ll give you a ride,” one said, “Up to the ‘Nort Wood.”
Dan hopped in his truck, and he gave us a call;
“I made it,” he said, “But it’s still a snow squall.”
“This stranger can drive me, but only so far;
You’ll need to come meet me, so get into your car.”
Then I left with my brother and his now ex-wife;
Out into the snow; ‘cause that’s Sconnie life.
We made it past Peshtigo, then out in the county;
We charged through the storm like a Canadian Mountie.
The snow came down hard – it was really hard to see;
“Charge on,” I said. “We must find my hon-ee”.
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a tiny strip club, and we let out a cheer.
We knew this was the place – we weren’t idiotic;
Besides, their Christmas lights spelled out ‘EXOTIC’.
The only business open across many miles;
A nice place to stop and admire some smiles.
We came to a stop and picked up my man;
He was now safe and sound in my brother’s minivan.
As we left the parking lot I swore I heard a shout;
It must be Saint Vitus – of this I had no doubt.
More rapid than eagles his dancers they came;
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, Bambi! now, Crystal! now Lola and Brandy!
On, Ginger! on, Tawny! on, Portia and Candy!
To the top of the pole! to the top of their laps!
Now dance away! dance away! dance away for those chaps!”
Our night wasn’t over; we headed back on the road;
And we came upon strangers who needed to be towed.
We quickly stopped the car; we hopped out to help;
One, two, three – PUSH! We said in a yelp.
Their car now was free – we had done our good deed;
Then we bid them adieu; and told them not to speed.
We finally got home – we’d survived the ordeal;
Who knew what else the night would reveal.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard a falsetto;
The prancing and pawing of each little stiletto.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Vitus came with a bound.
He was dressed all in leather, from his foot to his head,
And his tiny g-string was just held by a thread.
He was more like a Farley and less like a Swayze;
His Chippendales days seemed just a bit hazy.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And started to gyrate; and then he would twerk.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he started to strip —
“Happy Christmas to all, and don’t forget to tip!”
*Saint Vitus is the patron saint of dancers.