(Part one is here if you haven’t read it yet.)
Twas the night before Christmas, and all through my home,
Not a thing was stirring. Not even my phone.
Pink Firefly beside me, cozy in my bed,
As I tried to sleep, her little dog walking on my head.

-By Caleb Jones

When out in my living room there arose a loud spat,
“Oh great,” I said, “What the hell’s that?”
Throwing Firefly’s blonde hair aside, I leapt from my bed.
Disturb my Christmas Eve rest? Yeah. Time to make someone dead.

Staggering into my living room, to my wondering eyes should appear,
But cherry old Saint Nick, Santa Claus! His face grave, his intentions unclear.
“What the fuck Santa?” I asked irritably, in no mood for crap.
“I thought you did all this stuff quietly, without all this mishap.”

“I’m sorry, BD,” he said with great sadness,
“I used to be as quiet as a mouse, but lately it’s been madness.
My magic is no longer allowed, new left-wing regulations you know,
I can’t even use reindeer any more. The SJWs make me drive in the snow.”

“I know,” I said, “The Western world is coming to an end.
But could you just hurry up? I want to sleep, so speed up I recommend.”
He nodded and smiled, and went back to his work.
I even helped him with the presents. (Hey, I’m not a jerk.)

Then suddenly my front door flew open, hitting the wall with a SLAM!
And three men entered, all dressed like Uncle Sam.
“Who the hell are you?” I asked, exasperated to see more men.
“We’re Donald Trump supporters!” they said, “Here to make America great again!”

I said, “I’m leaving this country so I don’t care.
Do your saving somewhere else. You’re becoming a nightmare.”
They shook their heads, and pointing at Santa, they shouted out,
“This guy is an illegal alien from the North Pole. We need to kick him out!”

“You’ll never take me alive!” Santa shouted, a-jiggle with chub,
And with his superhuman strength, he picked up my tree and used it as a club.
Smashing all three Trumpers, killing them with one blow,
“How’s that for green card?” he quipped, “Ho ho ho!”

Before I could speak, three more men entered, all wearing slacks.
“We’re leftists,” they declared, “We’re here to take half your gifts, as a tax.”
“This is my property,” I said, pointing to the tree in Santa’s hands, standing like a steeple.
“Well,” they said, “Clearly you’re racist who hates poor people.”

“Race this!” said Santa, and he lunched the tree like a spear.
It smashed into the SJWs, exploding them, leaving only a red smear.
I turned to him and said, “Earlier, I thought you had absolutely no class,
But now I have to admit Santa, you’re pretty badass.”

We both high-fived and finished up with his work,
And I reminded him he owed me a tree, after having gone berserk.
He smiled, winked, and wiggled his cherry nose.
Instantly a new tree appeared! Fully decorated, smelling as sweet as a rose.

We shook hands and he left, trudging back out to his car,
And I violated my diet, eating an Oreo from the cookie jar.
Firefly emerged. “What was all that noise?” she asked, looking at me oddly.
“Just some Christmas Eve gladiatorial combat,” I said, smiling broadly.

As I took her in my arms, my thoughts turning to the profane,
We both heard a cry in the distance, with a voice like a freight train,
“To men everywhere, Alphas, or those still in the fight,
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”

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