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Array ( [sid] => 185685 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => I/'/m Not Santa Claus [time] => 2018-12-19 01:31:36 [hometext] => [bodytext] => I get really upset and frustrated this time of the year.
Children think I/'/m Santa Claus with eight reindeers.
Kids think that I/'/m Santa because I/'/m fat and have a beard that/'/s long and white.
They don/'/t believe me when I say I won/'/t come to their homes on Christmas night.
When I/'/m at restaurants, children constantly sit on my lap.
I tell them to take a hike and their mothers give me a slap.
Kids ask me how many elves are working at the North Pole.
They tug on my beard and some even lose bladder control.
I/'/m getting really sick and tired of this happening to me.
I smell really bad because kids soil my clothes with their pee.
I tell kids over and over that I/'/m not Santa but they never buy it.
Because I/'/m fat, a smart aleck little boy told me to go on a diet.
I couldn/'/t be Santa Claus even if I wanted to because I/'/m afraid of heights.
I can/'/t convince the little brats that I won/'/t be showing up on Christmas night. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 65 [topic] => 7 [informant] => randyjohnson [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => HumorPoetry )

I'm Not Santa Claus

Contributed by randyjohnson on Wednesday, 19th December 2018 @ 01:31:36 AM in AEST
Topic: HumorPoetry

I get really upset and frustrated this time of the year.
Children think I/'/m Santa Claus with eight reindeers.
Kids think that I/'/m Santa because I/'/m fat and have a beard that/'/s long and white.
They don/'/t believe me when I say I won/'/t come to their homes on Christmas night.
When I/'/m at restaurants, children constantly sit on my lap.
I tell them to take a hike and their mothers give me a slap.
Kids ask me how many elves are working at the North Pole.
They tug on my beard and some even lose bladder control.
I/'/m getting really sick and tired of this happening to me.
I smell really bad because kids soil my clothes with their pee.
I tell kids over and over that I/'/m not Santa but they never buy it.
Because I/'/m fat, a smart aleck little boy told me to go on a diet.
I couldn/'/t be Santa Claus even if I wanted to because I/'/m afraid of heights.
I can/'/t convince the little brats that I won/'/t be showing up on Christmas night.

Copyright © randyjohnson ... [ 2018-12-19 01:31:36]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: I'm Not Santa Claus (User Rating: 1 )
by Former_Member on Sunday, 23rd December 2018 @ 08:43:43 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

I am just the opposite
I adore children, and I never think
oh how lucky are they to be so young
I think oh man it is time for me to put on
a red suit and pretend that I am Santa
and I do have a lot to do between now and
December 25, the fake year when our lord
Jesus was born, because in Aramaic there
is a whole list of loose translations that make
zero sense that people still follow / no not
because of that / but because back then
when Jesus was around there was no Santa
for most kids. There was only extreme poverty
and debt that people felt was real debt
because they were led to believe it.
And then a bunch of christian jerks misinterpreted
the whole entire affair.

which reminds me of the Robert Frost Poem
On Fire and Ice
Some say the world will end in fire,
some say in ice.
I hold with those who favor fire,
But if it had to parish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say for destruction on ice
Is also great
That would suffice

And the reason I bring this
up is because I wrote my mom
about this question, of which
I received no reply

you see my mom was not much
younger than Robert Frost,
and she herself was incredibly
well read about the world

of poetry, and much much more.

When I had done it I was on my
own and very young.

And I think, but will never know,
she at least thought I was on the
right track.

still I don/'/t know what that means
still I don/'/t know what that means

or what might signify any reward
like a present presently given to a peasant
in this uncommon world

no the little tykes to me
are like little comrades

the little baby with blurry vision
is my baby.

my baby.
my baby.

Peace!

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