Stufflegroat the communist elf

 upon a tiny grey sea
aboard a wee little boat
 lived the communist elf
 known as Tom Stufflegroat
 many years in the past
 Tom had well riled
 that fat old Santa
and was soon exiled
 It started off small
chats with the neighbors
 did the Claus unduly
 exploit all their labors?
 But his talk of unions
 got the fat man’s attention
 Santa made the jobs
 he would brook no dissension
 Claus was the all
 Stufflegroat was a cancer
 the cure was a beating
 from Blitzen and Prancer
 Followed by exile
to the distant grey sea
 busted and battered
but finally free
 He built a rude schooner
 painted it yellow
 as the time passed
 he soon found his mellow
 his only companion
 was a mute buffalo
they spent their days
 peddling bootleg snow
 Tom thought he ‘n’ Santa
 would be forever estranged,
 until that fateful morning
when everything changed
 Tom sat at breakfast
 which was coffee and gin
 his buffalo devoured
buffalo chow from a tin
 when out on the deck
 there arose a huge clatter
 Tom idly thought about
 checking into the matter
 The cabin door shattered
revealing a fat man in red
 he strode in and stated
“Stufflegroat, you’re dead”
 Santa had come!
after ten long years
 he’d not brought presents
only thuggish reindeer
 “Typical Santa”
Tom noted drily
“In private a douche,
 but in public all smiley”
 “Cut the crap, commie’
 Santa replied
 “production is down,
I blame you for the slide”
 “You were the elf
 hated jolly and jingles
 instead spent your time
 with Marx and Engels”
 “You told all your pals
my platitudes were lies
 they could never be free
without the right to organize”
 “about your dangerous ideas
 the trouble revolved
 I’d hoped banishment
 would mean problem solved”
 but the elves did listen
 the bastards remember:
they’ve been on strike
 since mid-september!”
 At news of the strike
Tom’s heart filled with gladness
 but his happy smile
only stoked Santa’s madness
 “Christmas may be cancelled
 it’s all come disjointed
 the elves now claim
 their labor’s exploited”
 “I won’t let dirty pinkos,
my empire trample
 Stufflegroat, prepare
 to be made an example”
 The cabin went silent
 Time seemed to slow
when suddenly a noise
from the mute buffalo
 the beast had never spoken
 not so much as a squeak
 but in the tense stillness
 it began to speak
 Tom was quite stunned
 as was the killer in red
in tremulous voice
 the buffalo said;
 “he’s got a gun oh god oh god oh shit help me somebody help me please help oh god oh god”
 The buffalo panicked
Tom hit the floor
 Santa was kicked
 straight out the door
 Into his reindeers
 old Santa did flail
and then the whole gang
went over the rail
 “save me I’m drowning”
 the fat man cried
but Tom was unmoved
and so Santa died
 Tom ordered a poster
 from printers in Atlanta
 it had a picture of the buffalo,
and said “this machine kills santas”


 all copyrights and lefts to JB Lee