T'was the night before Christmas, and on his Pole top
The Guru was thinking. He thought quite a lot
"I wonder,' said he, 'why is it that we must
Tell lies to our children come every Christmas?
For every December we tell girls and boys
That Santa is coming to bring them new toys
But tis not Santa who brings them, tis my Wife and I
So what is the reason we tell them this lie?
If it's to make sure they're not Naughty, but Nice
Why so small of a bribe for so high a price?
"For the fact is, no matter how naughty they tend
Each Christmas we go out and gleefully spend
With our credit cards armed we spoil them rotten
On toys that, come New Years, will all be forgotten.
And each Christmas day, we watch them with pride
As they unwrap their presents, then throw them aside
'I wanted the pink one, not that one in cream!'
And they fall down, and thump things, and then start to scream.
And if, as so rarely, with their toys they are happy
Do you think they thank us? Their mummies and daddies?
No! Not at all! They thank the fat guy in red
He gets the praise. We go bankrupt instead!"
The Guru, while balancing, he thought long and deep
Of his sweet little angel, in bed fast asleep
No doubt she was dreaming of jingling bells
And reindeers, and Santa, and presents as well
'Wait a Minute!' said the Guru, 'By the great Zeus, I've got it!'
And placing his hand in his back trouser pocket,
He pulled out a bill that was several sheets thick
And cried out, "I'll forward this onto Saint Nick!
I do the hard work, yet my thanks he steals
So this year, he's paying. I'll send him the Bill!"
He jumped down his pole. To the study did flee
Stuffed the bill in a envelope, "To Santa, Love me!
Merry Christmas to you, you great big fat Liar"
And, taking the letter, he threw it on the fire
It burnt in an instant. The smoke flew up the flue
And wafted to the north pole, to Santa's Igloo
The guru he smiled, He'd never felt so much glee
Cos now Santa was paying this Christmas was free.
The season passed quickly. The toys quickly broke
But the Guru cared not for he billed the fat Bloke
Come New Year and Valentines more money he spent
And all of his bills straight to Santa he sent
A new sofa, new television, a new Laptop too
A book on meditation. (Well, he was a guru...)
The charges on his credit card they grew ever higher.
The red reminders, and summons he burnt on the fire.
'Santa,' thought the Guru, 'is so much in arrears
Why the little red thief, he should pay for all year!'
And so the Guru kept spending, and he laughed on his way
For the bill was on Santa. Father Christmas would pay.
T'was the night before Christmas, and on his pole top
The guru was hiding, he hid quite a lot
They bailiffs they came and they knocked on the door
They'd taken the presents and come back for more
His TV, his Sofa, his Laptop, all gone
And his wife had left home and moved it with her mum
Someone called up from the ground down below
T'was a policeman who stood knee deep in the snow
"Seasons Greetings Mr Guru!' the policeman, he said
"I've come to arrest you, you're in too much debt."
He slapped on the cuffs, the guru fell to the floor.
And with a heartbreaking scream cried "Santa you Whore!
Every year on this planet I've brought gifts in your name
Just for one year couldn't you do the same?"
To the car the cop pushed him. On the back seat he fell
Then on the edge of his hearing - could that be sleigh bells?
He moved to the window. Pressed his nose to the glass.
And there stood St Nicholas who let out a laugh!
"Christmas is not in the money you spend,
But in the love and the laughter you share with your friends!
Not at my whim did those presents you buy
No, that was your choice, you made up that lie!`
The car engine started. He'd spend Christmas in a cell.
There'd be no Christmas cheer there. That much he could tell.
And Santa exclaimed, ere the car pulled away.
'Christmas spirit is free! If you want Presents, you Pay.'
For a very happy Christmas, just spend bugger all!
Merry Christmas to you all, From the Freelance Guru
