Here tis another "Twas.........
'Twas The Month Before Christmas
'Twas the month before Christmas, and
all through the store,
Each department was dripping with
Yuletide decor.
The Muzak was blaring an out-of-tune
carol,
And the fake snow was falling on
"Ladies' Apparel."
I'd flown many miles from the North Pole
this day,
To check on reports which had caused me
dismay.
I'd come to this store for but one
special reason,
To see for myself what went on this
Season.
I hid in a corner and in a short while
I saw the Store President march down the
aisle.
He shouted an order to "Turn the store
tree on!"
And also the "NOEL" in blinking pink
neon.
Up high, grandly hanging from twin gold
supports,
Four hundred pink angels flew over
"Men's Shorts."
And towering over the Rear Mezzanine,
A 90-foot Day Glo "Nativity Scene."
The clock on the wall said two minutes
to Nine,
The floorwalkers proudly all stood in
line.
I watched while the President smelled
their carnations,
Then called out his final command-"Man
Your Stations!"
When out on the street there arose such
a roar,
It rang to the rafters and boomed
through the store.
It sounded exactly like street-repair
drilling,
Or maybe another big Mafia killing.
I looked to the doors, and there banging
glass,
Was a clamoring, shrieking, hysterical
mass.
And I felt from the tone of each scream
and each curse,
That the "Spirit Of Christmas" had
changed for the worse.
The clock it struck Nine, and the door
opened wide,
And that great human avalanche thundered
inside.
More fearsome than Sherman attacking
Atlanta
Came parents and kiddies with just one
goal-"Santa!"
In front stormed the mothers, all
brandishing handbags,
As heavy and deadly as 20 pound
sandbags.
With gusto they swung them, the better
to smash ears,
Of innocent floorwalkers, buyers, and
cashiers.
Egged on by thier parents, the kids had
one aim,
To get to the man who was using my name.
They mobbed him and mauled him, the
better to plead,
For the presents they sought in thier
hour of greed.
The President watched with a gleam in
his eye,
As he thought of the toys that the
parents would buy.
Of all Christmas come-ons, this crowd
would attest,
That a visit to "Santa" was clearly the
best.
It was all too much for my soul to
condone,
And I let out a most unprofessional moan.
The crowd turned around, and I'll say for their sake,
That they knew in an instant I wasn't fake.
"I've had it," I told them, "with
fast-buck promoting,
With gimmicks and come-ons and
businessmen gloating.
This garish display of commercialized
greed,
Is so very UN-Christmas, it makes my
heart bleed!"
Frank Jacobs, Mad Magazine, Jan 1969.
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