FANFARE FOR THE COMMON MAN: Twas the Day After Christmas

A longstanding occasion convention in my family included the perusing of the Clement Clarke Moore ballad "Twas the Night Before Christmas," with the greater part of the family assembled around the Christmas tree listening to the collection described by Burl Ives. For me, the ballad dependably encapsulated Christmas and that unbridled feeling of expectation sitting tight for Santa Claus to show up and leave a plentiful combination of presents under the tree come Christmas morning.

Christmas Eve, as I would like to think, is the best a portion of Christmas.

Christmas morning is extraordinary, don't misunderstand me, however in our home, the gore of opening presents was typically done by 7:30 a.m. what's more, the failure of what didn't get left under the tree, alongside what did, had settled in.

No horse. No new mitt. Just parts and bunches of garments.

This inspired me to considering, however, imagine a scenario where, on Christmas morning, some child woke up to only garments under the Christmas tree. What might Mr. Moore's dearest sonnet seem like then?

Here is my form of the Clement Clarke Moore lyric. I call it "Twas the Day After Christmas." This is my "Imagine a scenario where.

Imagine a scenario where, Santa Claus regarded that one unfortunate child would get only garments under the Christmas tree on Christmas morning.

It could happen.

Furthermore, in the event that it happened, it would transpire ...

So assemble round everybody, and get that measure of hot cocoa and eggnog, and rundown listen to a truly tragic Christmas story.

Twas the day after Christmas and all through the house

I'm starting to think this current Santa's a mite.

The leggings were scattered with endowments tossed all over,

Also, me with my presents of socks, a plaid sweater and new clothing.

We children were all amped up on a lot of Christmas sweet

Furthermore, everybody except me thought Christmas was dandy …

Since you see I didn't request any of these things;

I requested a mitt, a GI Joe, and not gloves with strings.

So I sat there all melancholy and sulked among the rattle;

I needed one more opportunity to tell Santa what the hell was the matter.

Simply give me one shot and I'd give a quick kick

Ideal to the seat of the jeans of that blockhead St. Scratch.

He brought my sisters a doll and an Easy Bake Oven

Furthermore, my sibling a Big Wheel, yet for me I got 'nuthin'.

Just garments and boots and a couple of sleeve buttons;

Better believe it, I was really sure, this Christmas stuff stinks.

My more youthful kin didn't have the primary suspicion or intimation

Concerning why on this Christmas I was feeling so blue.

So I went ahead to quaint little inn numbering the days;

I'll get my retribution, gracious yes, Santa will pay.

All of a sudden, watching out my window at the new fallen snow

I heard a confusion originating from the yard far underneath.

Furthermore, what do I see that makes me take stop

Why those simpleton reindeer and that #$@%! Santa Clause Claus.

With ball bat close by I sprang from my bed;

I'll give Santa a decent one right upside the head

Also, Dasher, Dancer and Prancer, even Vixen.

I'll swing for the fence and I don't anticipate missin,

I shouted, "What the hell were you considering?" as I kept running outside.

You guaranteed me toys, and Santa, you lied!

These gloves are no great and these sleeve fasteners are spoiled

Also, who cares if my clothing is 100 percent cotton?

However this little old man, this curiously large mythical person

Had a dismal look in his eyes that said, "I point the finger at myself."

With new work laws and the mythical beings out on strike

Furthermore Rudolph became ill, you don't recognize what it resembles.

At that point Mrs. Claus who is generally very sweet

Reported this Christmas we will no longer eat meat;

I chose right then in the midst of my hopelessness

That I'd leave only garments under your Christmas tree.

To peruse these rundowns from the world's young ladies and young men

Requesting only confection and toys;

At that point it hit me like the tingle toward the end of my nose

It'd be decent to give one child only garments.

What's more, that is you, my great companion, I picked you to get

The jeans and shirts with the additional long sleeves;

It's you who got gloves and another combine of socks

While others got toys and introduces that stone.

Santa Clause stood out his tongue and gave me raspberries

What's more, said, child I couldn't care less if your Christmas ain't joyful.

He took a gander at me with this cynical glimmer in his eye

That said I better watch out I better not cry.

He drew out his whip and gave it a break

What's more, away they all flew with signal chimes on their backs.

What's more, I heard him shout as he doffed his red cover

Appreciate the garments … and Merry Christmas, kid.

I never liked that ballad at any rate.

​Dan Brown is a multi-grant winning funniness feature writer for the Aiken Standard and has been informed by his mom (who disapproved of the segment) that he received toys for Christmas.