Zombie Night Christmas
by Clement Clarke Moore
or Henry Livingston
and Pamela N. Brown
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when outside of my door
A Large creature was howling for brains and for more;
The boards were hung on the windows with care,
In hopes that a zombie would not come there;
The children were hiding all snug in their threads,
While visions of nightmares flashed through their heads;
And mamma in her overalls, and I in my cap,
Had just hunkered down for some rest and a nap,
When out on the porch there arose such a clatter,
I sprang off my butt and saw a blood splatter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Peaked through the wooden slits and saw her head smash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of crimson to a fresh murdered ho,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature wagon, and a cooler of beer,
With a little old drunkard, so wobbly but quick,
I knew in a moment it must be old Dick.
More rapid than draggers his doggies they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now, Killer! Now, Thriller! Now, Princess and Dylan!
On, Precious! On Gizmo! On, Cookie! Quit Chillin’!
To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
Now bark away! Bark away! Bark away all!”
As the stench that before the wild gathering flies,
When they meet with a human, some missing their eyes,
So up to the deck top the puppies they flew,
With the wagon of liquor, and slobberin’ Dick too.
And then, in an instant, I heard on the door
The clawing and pawing of the reanimated whore.
As I drew back my head, and was spinning around,
With my Uzi and Ruger, I aimed at a hound.
He was covered in fur, and mange on his foot,
And his fur was all matted with blood and some soot;
A bundle of muscle dangled from his back,
And he looked like a demon calling for his pack.
His eyes – how they dribbled! He was quite scary!
His cheeks were ripped open, and red like a cherry!
His large drooling mouth was drawn back like a bow,
And the bones underneath shone as white as the snow;
The stump of an arm he held tight in his teeth,
And maggots encircled an eye socket like a wreath;
He had a ripped face and a distended round belly,
That popped when I pulled my trigger; ’twas quite smelly.
He was splattered to bits, and I cried to myself,
As chunks fell in my drink that lay on the shelf.
I glanced out the window and saw Dick was undead
His travel a memory buried deep in his head.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And stumbled and shivered; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger inside of his nose,
And found brain tissue; how disgusting and gross.
He sprang to his wagon, to his dogs gave a whistle,
And away they clambered like the down of a thistle.
I swore he exclaimed, as he dragged out of sight,
“I may have your brains for my dinner tonight.”