The  Post
Christmas  Vogon  Poetry  Competition   2009

In the bleak midwinter

Or maybe it was spring, but we need a break about now,

Long, long ago

How long, we're not sure, but isn't it fun to mess with people's heads and argue about Dennis the Short?

Snow was falling, snow on snow,

See above. Anyway, who cares whether that baby was born in a barn, or a cave, and what the man said?

He went around saying that 'a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of things which he possesseth'.

Now, that's just plain silly.

If we can't make up our own god, what good is it?

Ours has deep pockets and one of those black AmEx cards.

He wears the red cap and he rides his chariot,

And he lives by the Papuan creed:

'Good people get cargo.'

His advent is on Thanksgiving Day,

And appropriately, he arrives in front of Macy's.

Sit on his lap, tell him your desires,

All will be well.

Checkbook happiness is the watchword.

What shall I give him, poor as I am?

Well, there's always re-gifting, I think I've got a bottle of rum in the cupboard.

If I were a shepherd...

Who cares about sheep?

And when the last unpaid-for present is opened,

And the last eggnog drunk,

We can sit around and complain

About the commercialisation of Xmas.

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