Twas the day before Christmas and all over the town not a creature was verbing, not even a noun. In his grave spins Clement Clarke Moore and you’ve got another cheesy column in store. I just had to do it on Christmas Eve Day, so let’s get all this out of the way.
There’s a jolly old man who visits each year but this time he might have some trouble, I fear. His flight plan is very precise, as is his formula for naughty or nice. If it’s not right down to the sec we could end up with a jolly old wreck!
There’s a crossing just west of town where the motorists just refuse to slow down. Winchester and 10th, a daredevil’s shrine and they still refuse to put up a sign! Santa Claus won’t be coming by with a drop because he’s still not sure when he needs to stop! I hear the jam extends into the sky — he’s got to compete with things flying by.
The big man eats at that one famous Inn, but it’s shut down now, how long has it been? In Britain, he gets a nice mince pie to sit in his gut as he flies through the sky. In Holland they leave carrots and hay, so the reindeer can pull the sleigh. Americans leave him things that are sweet, though I think we should leave him some meat. This year leave Santa a burger with peanut butter so he can be energetic when he slips off the gutter.
Downtown Sedalia is a tough notion, too — it didn’t go so well the last time he flew. He did a trial run on Thanksgiving night and he ended up with quite a fright. On the roof of the Hotel Bothwell, an extravagant fire attack began to swell. There he was, in the atmosphere and he went home with a few singed reindeer.
And what’s worse were the lights, the deer weren’t used to seeing those brights! They trained at night, to fly at night and that’s the only way they would do it right! But the Streetscape lights that mimicked the day just seemed to do nothing but get in the way.
But I think that the most likely reason of all was the fear that his landing pad might fall. Everyone knows that Santa lands on the roof, and those downtown buildings could fall with a poof. The sleigh is heavy — most people don’t know! Not to mention it accumulates snow! If you want a picture of trouble, imagine the big man in a pile of rubble! His strange elven magic would help him escape, but it wouldn’t happen with nary a scrape. He’d rise out of the pile of bricks and dust as long as his magic spleen didn’t bust.
The legends say he’s got only one bag, but he’s got a second when he hits a snag. A pile of building, dead in the snow — into the infinite bag it would go. There is an elf that handles his calls and he told me to call back when we worked on the walls.
But you should know he’s adjusted before — he’s got mighty fine elves in his Christmas Corps. Through rain, sleet, snow or hail, he’ll deliver what you mail. Wait, that’s not right! That is those guys with sleighs of white! Through sleet, hail, rain or snow; he can find you wherever you go. Chimney or not, no difference to him — even if he’s caught or the lights are dim.
There is no way to stop Santa Claus — he doesn’t really follow laws. “I do all my business as Santa Claus Inc.,” he isn’t afraid to admit with a wink.