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Off the sled
On the night before Christmas got here,
Santa relapsed, got into the beer.
You might think he’s a saint;
after twelve, though, he ain’t.
On a rampage, he shot up the deer.
Only Rudolph did make an escape;
the elves bandaged him up with some tape.
To get out of the mess,
they called up UPS,
“Can Brown please get us out of this scrape?”
Now the judge found him guilty for cause;
gave him jail time, not one of those spas.
Locked him up till October
or until he got sober.
Because he was a dependent Claus…
Copyright ©
Jeff Kyser
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