‘Twas the night before Christmas

Pholks, this week I had this reoccurring dream from 1996. It's exactly the same. Salad shooter, clappers and Chia heads still haunt me. Here we go again....

‘Twas the night before Christmas
and all through the house
not a creature was stirring,
not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care
in the hopes that Saint Nicholas
soon would be there.
When all of a sudden:

CLAP. CLAP. CLAP.

Suddenly there appears this really weird looking guy dressed all in red with white trimming. And his hair is all fuzzy and green. And it starts growing right before my eyes. This green hair is growing an inch every minute.

This guy has a big ‘ol sack slung over his shoulder and he's got what looks like a pistol in one hand. This not so jolly looking green-haired elf is aiming his weapon at me. His lip curls into a Paul Newman-like sneer. His green hair, mustache and beard are getting longer and longer.

I throw up my hands but don't dare say a word. I'm in shock. This is supposed to be Christmas Eve. What the hell is going on?

For a second he drops his large barreled weapon on the floor and claps his glove-covered hands together several times. The Christmas tree lights go off and on. The television switches on and channels flash from one to another. The Pope offering Christmas Eve Mass from Rome. Lucille Ball butchering a Christmas tree. Dick Van Dyke taking a header while carrying an armful of logs to the fireplace. Bing Crosby singing White Christmas, an ad for the Christmas album of Slim Whitman (available in cassette and CD).

CLAP CLAP CLAP.

The TV goes off, the Christmas tree lights start blinking again. This not-so jolly looking guy picks up his weapon. He sneers. He fires without warning.

My eyes are closed. I know it's the end. I wait for the bullets to riddle my body. My Christmas Eves of the past flash across my mind's eyes. Killed by a green-haired weirdo on Christmas Eve.

Suddenly, SPLAT SPLAT SPLAT and I'm struck in the face by something wet and slippery. I think it's blood. I open my lids and what to my wondering eyes should appear but little pieces of lettuce, carrots, celery, radish and tomato.

This guy is laughing his little ass off. His big belly shakes like a bowl full of beer and jelly. He pulls out a pint of Thousand Island dressing, twists off the lid and sprinkles it all over my salad-covered self. "Merry Christmas sucker. Have a good night." he yells as he dumps about six dozen Christmas packages on the floor near the tree. He stumbles as he makes three complete turns, heads for the fireplace, claps three times and disappears.

I hear his ringing laughter and the jingling of sleigh bells growing softer and softer until they fade into the night.

I find my way to the kitchen and wipe myself as clean as possible. I return to the family room and start tearing open several of the packages. I don't want to take a chance on the family opening package bombs left by some wacko pervert bent on killing families on Christmas Eve.

I rip the wrappings off some packages and guess what. Four have Chia Heads complete with seed to grow green hair just like the Sicko Santa. Three more boxes have the Super Clapper which turns lights, TV's and stereos off and on. It can also do Christmas lights. Five more packages have what look like the perverts gun. They are Salad Shooters–generally considered not to be deadly weapons.

I start whipping through more gifts. Salad Shooters, Chia Heads and Chia Pets, and more super Super Clappers.

I start to scream "No. No. No. I can't have this for Christmas. I just can't. Help! Help! Help!

Suddenly I'm awake with the covers on the floor. I'm covered with sweat. I'm awake. It isn't real. It is a Christmas nightmare.

Gosh pholks, I'm so relieved you can't believe it.

I dash to the kitchen, throw together a double hot-buttered rum, return to the family room, kick over the logs in the fireplace and get the fire going. I'm still shaking but the rum and the fire feel good. I start to relax but feel I have to watch a little TV before heading back to bed. The family luckily is away at Grandmas.

I turn on the TV manually. The first sounds I hear from the screen are CLAP CLAP CLAP.

I run half naked outside yelling and screaming non-Christmas like words. CLAP CLAP CLAP and lights go on all over the neighborhood.