This piece ran on Points in Case.
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse,
Although millions of microscopic mites which live in the pores of the skin will be out to feast nocturnally on your dead matter. You can scrub your face as much as you want, but it's pretty much impossible to get rid of them.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
This is likely a symptom of a poor diet, specifically the theobromine and caffeine contained in seasonal candy. These chemicals disrupt sleep, and in sufficient quantities will cause disturbances and night terrors.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,
How tiny, exactly? The New Haven Science Journal estimated that, factoring in a conservative estimate of just 500lbs of toys, it would require 6.11 sextillion horsepower to propel Santa’s sleigh through the night sky. And that’s not to mention the added friction of thick winter snow, the fatiguing effects of restless work, and the significant added mass of Santa’s obese frame. But sure, eight of these reindeer should do the trick.
With a little old driver so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
"Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donner and Blitzen!
Sailing through the night sky, one might be inclined to relax at this point. I bet you didn’t know that one principal predator of reindeer is the golden eagle, and you’re firmly in their territory now, Santa. They can swoop at 240 kilometers per hour when diving for their prey. Don’t let down your guard, even for a second. Unless your idea of a yuletide greeting is being mauled by thrashing talons.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
Stop right there. Any house built before 1980 likely used the asbestos-laden Transite cement to line their chimney. I’d stay well away from Jolly Ol’ St Nick unless you want to spend New Year’s in an emphysema ward.
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
A classic Maraschino cherry, I assume? Those which are firstly bleached in a solution of calcium chloride and sulfur dioxide, then marinated in vats of syrup and bright red dye? Sounds delicious. Merry Christmas.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;
At least momentarily, until the laws of convection cause the smoke to expand upward and outward, spreading horizontally along the ceiling in a malevolent, billowing cloud of carcinogens.
He had a broad face and a little round belly
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
Hopefully not too sharply a jerk. Gradual degradation of joints in the lumbar spine lead often to osteoarthritis and spinal stenosis in the over 70s. This leads invariably to severe pain and loss of flexibility in the joints. I hope you left some non-steroidal anti-inflammatories by the fireplace!
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
That is, Happy Christmas to those who celebrate, and Happy Saturday to the 5.7 billion who do not!
Although millions of microscopic mites which live in the pores of the skin will be out to feast nocturnally on your dead matter. You can scrub your face as much as you want, but it's pretty much impossible to get rid of them.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
This is likely a symptom of a poor diet, specifically the theobromine and caffeine contained in seasonal candy. These chemicals disrupt sleep, and in sufficient quantities will cause disturbances and night terrors.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,
How tiny, exactly? The New Haven Science Journal estimated that, factoring in a conservative estimate of just 500lbs of toys, it would require 6.11 sextillion horsepower to propel Santa’s sleigh through the night sky. And that’s not to mention the added friction of thick winter snow, the fatiguing effects of restless work, and the significant added mass of Santa’s obese frame. But sure, eight of these reindeer should do the trick.
With a little old driver so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
"Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donner and Blitzen!
Sailing through the night sky, one might be inclined to relax at this point. I bet you didn’t know that one principal predator of reindeer is the golden eagle, and you’re firmly in their territory now, Santa. They can swoop at 240 kilometers per hour when diving for their prey. Don’t let down your guard, even for a second. Unless your idea of a yuletide greeting is being mauled by thrashing talons.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
Stop right there. Any house built before 1980 likely used the asbestos-laden Transite cement to line their chimney. I’d stay well away from Jolly Ol’ St Nick unless you want to spend New Year’s in an emphysema ward.
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
A classic Maraschino cherry, I assume? Those which are firstly bleached in a solution of calcium chloride and sulfur dioxide, then marinated in vats of syrup and bright red dye? Sounds delicious. Merry Christmas.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;
At least momentarily, until the laws of convection cause the smoke to expand upward and outward, spreading horizontally along the ceiling in a malevolent, billowing cloud of carcinogens.
He had a broad face and a little round belly
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
Hopefully not too sharply a jerk. Gradual degradation of joints in the lumbar spine lead often to osteoarthritis and spinal stenosis in the over 70s. This leads invariably to severe pain and loss of flexibility in the joints. I hope you left some non-steroidal anti-inflammatories by the fireplace!
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
That is, Happy Christmas to those who celebrate, and Happy Saturday to the 5.7 billion who do not!