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So there little Timmy was sitting, on Christmas Eve,
Looking out of his window, he started to grieve,
For his seasonal hero, he came to believe,
Came with a sack full of presents, that children receive.

“Why is he sad?” You might ask in confusion,
Allow me to strip the devil of his illusion,
For the crimson menace, with his every intrusion,
Masks his true colours with joyous delusion.

For red is an apt colour for this master of lies,
This gift-carrying subversive, this master of spies,
How else does he tell when we’re naughty or nice,
When he soars through the air, when he troubles the skies?

Santa is a commie! A political traitor!
He may seem benevolent, but the truth is much greater
And more terrible than a Fascist dictator!
He’ll corrupt us all, much sooner than later.

He works his elves to the bone, for no recompense,
And gives the bounty away! What financial nonsense!
His robe and his beard give him perfect defence,
From a society, waiting, with palpable suspense.

For when you bend the minds of the pure,
It’s better to hide, of that I’m sure,
And as they grow old, and wise, and mature,
Your acts will kill the will of the entrepreneur,

Because why should you bother, when a fellow in red,
Is undermining your business, with free gifts instead?
There’s no point at all, and it fills me with dread,
That commerce the world over will soon be quite dead.

For one night of the year, Santa Claus has free rein,
To spread his message of cheapness and pain,
And drill the Red Menace deep into your brain,
So you would never feel obliged to pay for anything again.

Chaos would grip the nation like *that*,
And every currency on Earth would run flat,
As instead of buying wares, or stopping for chat,
The crowds would run riot, and loot, and sack!

But fear not, dear ones, for I have a solution,
For this rotund bringer of mental pollution!
Instead of accepting Saint Nick’s contribution,
Grab a twelve-bore, and sign off his execution!


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