Twas the night before Christmas and all through the trailer, nothing was shaking, not even a tornader. The youngins were nestled, all snug in their beds while visions of Ann Margret danced in their heads.

Ma in her nightie and me in my BVD's had just settled down to catch us some ZZZ's.

 When out in the yard it sounded so hectic I jumped out of bed to see if them neighbors had gone all domestic. The trailer was cold and my body was froze so I dashed to the closet to grab me some clothes. When I looked out the window I saw coming from 'round back, a fat sweaty guy in a pink Cadillac.

I headed to the living room at a dead run, cause over the fake fireplace is where I keep my shotgun. The socks were hung on the deer antlers with care, cause they were quite stinky and needed some air. He came through the door raising a clatter, he couldn't have climbed up on the roof, even with a ladder. In a rhinestone covered  jumpsuit he was fully decked, and a sweaty old scarf hung around his neck.

He paid me no heed as he dug out his stuff and left blue swede shoes for all of us. Finishing his work he scarfed down his snack, then a curl of his lip he grabbed his gift sack.

With a karate kick he knocked the door down, and out to the Caddy he headed with a bound. And I heard him exclaim as he fired the car up, "Merry Christmas y'all, and thank you, thank you very much."

Posted with apologies to Clement Clark Moore and the Presley estate.