A Christmas Special from Hell

Stephen W. Griffin By Stephen W. Griffin, 23rd Feb 2010 | Follow this author | RSS Feed
Posted in Wikinut>Writing>Poetry

This was a joke of a Christmas poem I wrote recently. Take it as a source of humor, and please enjoy.

A Christmas Special from Hell

T’was Christmas again! The North Pole a bustle,
Tiny elves hurried quick,
With such deadlines to make they really must hustle.

As the presents were loaded in a big sack,
And reindeer donned harnesses,
Taking their places in the line, from front to back

Santa sat pondering, a scowl on his face.
Yearly he came, round
Yet yearly he lost faith, lost faith in the human race.

To the good little girls and the good little boys,
He had gone out a sleighing,
Bringing gifts of candy, books, and toys

It had been a good thought to offer reward
Incentive and reason,
But this was not what it would take to move forward.

So on this Christmas Eve, Santa did plan,
It would be the naughty children this year
Who he’d visit as only he can.

His big great sack, once filled with joy
Held new items
Not one of them a toy.

The songs made it clear
That Santa did watch,
And it was good he held dear,

He watches you always, he knows when you’re nice
But when you are naughty,
His heart fills with ice.

He knows when you’re sleeping, he knows where you live,
So this Christmas if you’re naughty,
He’ll be giving your kidneys a shiv.

It was a new time indeed, a time for fear,
Santa loaded his arsenal,
And inspected his dear.

He took off fast, and he took off quick
The laws of physics are nothing,
To the magics of ol’ saint Nick

He started in Asia, the land of the rising sun,
And as he dealt justice,
Oh he had such great fun.

With the spin of the globe, he worst his way West,
Killing with passion,
His work was the best.

He blew up their houses, burnt down their homes,
To one vain little girl,
He battered her with combs.

In truth to his legend he left a boy coal,
Warm and lit,
He left it in his skull

To the child torturing cats,
He smiled and laughed,
The boy was transformed, right into a rat!

He did not discriminate, the tall or the small,
He damn near cleared out
The whole juvie hall.

He sought out the liars,
He sought out the bullies
And to all their beds he set fires.

For cutting in line, he cut off their fingers,
They may be alive,
But the pain, how it lingers.

As he crossed over the Atlantic, he thought and took stock,
Just how many children,
Had he clubbed with a rock?

Descending on the States, he went to work again,
To the little girls he brought bullets,
Not Barbie or Ken.

By now word was spreading,
It came from the East,
And the world new where Kringle was heading

The kids began hiding, behind a mom and a dad,
But when Santa was finished,
Their remains were all there was to be had.

He flew through the air, pursued in the skies,
But with a flash,
He took each pilot’s eyes!

Not a force in the world, set slow to old Kringle,
His success seemed imminent,
His spine was a tingle.

Nearing the end of his route
He set upon Alaska,
With so few people about.

But here was one more,
A house all alone,
A mere family of four.

He snuck down the chimney, a hatchet in hand,
Not many were remaining,
On water or land.

But there stood a boy, not more than nine,
He stood firm and defiant,
Well that was just fine.

But it was not with gun or with axe that he stood,
In the way of years past,
He held milk and cookies, as little boys would.

Santa “Ho Ho”ed with a smile, and lopped off his head,
Then he scooped up the cookies,
Not above robbing the dead.

But with a cough and a splutter
Santa felt off,
The world went all tipsy as his eye began to flutter.

He wanted to wretch, he wanted to hurl,
As he fell to his knees he saw her,
The tiny little girl.

Weakened and sick, Santa let his axe fall,
And the little girl now,
Did the hardest thing of all.

She picked up the hatched, lifting it high
It was clear in the present,
That Santa must die.

With a chop it was over for old man Claus,
Laid low by his own hatchet,
And some poison, only fit for a mouse.


Christmas, Duncreek, Evil Santa, Humor, Violence

Meet the author

author avatar Stephen W. Griffin
Hello, the name is Stephen and I write what would mostly be classed as horror for the entertainment. I wouldn't advice it for children, but it is fun stuff all the same.

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