Politically Correct Version of Twas a Night Before Christmas

Last updated on: December 28, 2010 at 9:24 am by Andrew Marin

Politically Correct Version of Twas a Night Before Christmas 2010-12-28T09:24:48-06:00 Andrew Marin

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This is SO FUNNY! My uncle was forwarded this text by a friend and he read it to the family on Christmas day. All of us were cracking up! This was created by radio host Vicki McKenna.

Here you go… The new 2010 version of Twas the Night Before Christmas:

” ‘Twas the Night Before a Non-denominational or Denominational Celebratory Day” By Vicki McKenna, Dave McCann (with contributions from the internet).

‘Twas the night before a non-denominational or denominational celebratory day, when all through the residential dwelling, either rented or owned, not a creature was stirring, not even an evolution-advanced, sentient, small furry species that must be respected.

The hosiery which may be worn by any person regardless of gender (or gender identity) was hung (in a gentle manner using recyclable materials) by the chimney with care, in hopes that a follically gifted person of enhanced girth soon would be there.

The younger but equally valuable members of the family who may or may not be biologically related to the head of household were nestled (most respectfully and without the possibility of physical discipline) all snug in their beds, while non-drug induced and age-appropriate visions of organic fruit danced in the most non-suggestive manner in their heads.

And the female, male or transgendered head of household in his/her kerchief/cap/headwear of choice, and I in my kerchief/cap/headwear of choice, had just settled down for a long winter’s nap. When out on the lawn/sidewalk/street/space not enclosed by walls, to respect those who cannot afford lawns or who may be homeless, which is a tragic condition that should not be judged– there arose such a noise of undeterminable origin, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash, not produced by any incendiary device, threw open the shutters and threw up the sash.* The moon on the portion of female anatomy that cannot be said on the radio or television due to FCC restrictions of the new fallen snow, gave a luster of midday to objects below.

When what to my wondering eyes, or other means of sensing, should appear, or emerge, but a mode of environmentally friendly transportation of compact stature that does not contribute to the world wide concern of global warming, nor uses unreplenishable fossil fuels, and eight tiny hoofed animals that should never be hunted for sport.

With a senior citizen driver of a vertically challenged disposition, so lively and quick, not meaning to imply that senior citizen drivers of a vertically challenged disposition are not normally lively and quick…I knew in a moment it must be the follically gifted person of enhanced girth previously mentioned above—but of no denominational significance.

More rapid than an avian species that is protected under federal law, his coursers they came, and he whistled, because he was genetically predisposed to whistle, and shouted, but not in an aggressive manner, and called them by name. Now Dasher, now Dancer, now Prancer, and Vixen, on Comet on Cupid, on Donder and Blitzen! (The folically gifted person of enhanced girth did not mean to call these hoofed animals that should never be hunted for sport by any value-laden or gender specific name as all reindeer, regardless of gender, are provided equal opportunity.)

To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall or other point on land that could be viewed by anyone either with or without a home…now dash away, dash away, dash away all! And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof, or any other point of a building within view of anyone either with or without a home, the prancing and pawing of each little hoof…

As I drew in my hand, or prosthesis, whichever applies, and was turning around…down the chimney the follically gifted person of enhanced girth came with a bound. He was dressed in an outfit that was comprised of a fur-like material made of hemp from his head to his foot, and his clothes were all tarnished with non-tobacco ashes, and soot.

A bundle of toys or educational items he had flung on his back and he looked like a entrepreneurial retailer as he opened his pack. His eyes how they twinkled, his genetically inherited facial features how merry, his cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry. His droll little mouth drawn up like a bow, and the facial hair on his face was as lacking in pigment as the snow or other type of precipitation, depending on the climate.

(((The next lines are omitted because of references to smoking and tobacco products without regard to the concern over second-hand smoke which would set a bad example for children.)))

(((Again, the next lines must be omitted because of value-laden and biogted references to people of enhanced abdominal girth.))) … a wink of his eye, not meaning to imply anything sexual or inappropriate and a twist of his head, soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, nor signed to the hearing impaired any indication he was trying to communicate, but went straight to his hourly or salaried union-contracted position recently negotiated and agreed upon by all parties, and filled the hosiery which may be worn by any person regardless of gender and washed in a gentle manner using only recyclable materials, then turned with a jerk (which may or may not be grounds for a workman’s comp claim).

And laying his finger aside of his nose, and giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. He sprang to his mode of environmentally friendly transportation of compact stature that does not contribute to the world wide concern of global warming, nor uses unreplenishable fossil fuels and to his team gave a whistle… And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, or sign to the hearing impaired as he drove, soberly, out of sight…. Happy non-denominational or denominational celebratory day…and to all a good night!

Much love.

www.themarinfoundation.org

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