How the Kaiser Stole Christmas
Ned Nedmiller, Maid-a-Milking 

Monday, Dec. 24, 2001
Now every person loves Christmas,
Near every last one.
‘cept the Kaiser of course
who don’t like it none.

The Kaiser don’t like it,
no more than a sliver.
He hates it like taxes,
or a boiled smelly liver.
He thinks it’s the worst thing
he’s seen in some time.
He hates it like beechnuts,
or poetry that rhymes.

Nobody’s quite sure when he started his hating,
Not least his mother, nor the waitress he’s dating.
Some think that his conscience was ate by a frog,
Or that a starved reindeer bit off his Yule log.
Some think it’s that Christmas he got locked in a Hooters,
Or as a small boy that his pooter got neutered.

But whatever it was, his life or his genes,
Around Christmas he grew to be frightfully mean.
He’d sneak into toy stores and stomp on the toy trains
All dressed as Santa, just to mess with the brains
Of the children who stood there and hoped all the while
That he’d stay away from the Nintendo isle.

But the Kaiser grew bored of his old Christmas tricks
And he even got tired of heaving those bricks
At the Christmas parade, or his rumor that festered
That old Santa Claus was a child molester.

One year he decided it was time for his coup,
For he’d pulled all his pranks and had nothing to do.
He’d fed chili to all of the reindeer at the zoo,
And he’d tracked down Burl Ives and had painted him blue.
So he dreamt up a plan on the 12th of December,
The final grand prank for which he’d be remembered.
This was a dastardly, devious idea so smelly
It seeped out his ears like a shiny black jelly.

The Kaiser sent Santa a gift in the mail.
The address? He’d questioned a snail in the hail,
And checked with a quail that had eaten a whale,
Who said it was current and would work without fail.

The gift got to Santa, who was quite surprised,
When he opened it and could not believe his own eyes.
It was a gift like no other, of which Santa had dreamed:
A watch with a Global Positioning Beam.
But the Kaiser knew something, that no-account jerk,
The Kaiser knew that those things never quite work.

So when Santa took off on that Christmas Eve night,
With that watch on his wrist, all was not right.
And before very long it became quite apparent
That Santa’s directions had become quite aberrant.

The land looked like Russia, but the watch told him Greece,
Though the farmers were wrapped up in parkas, not fleece.
Then the watch changed its mind and it said Gall,
Then it said the mountains just north of Nepal.
Then it was England, and then worst of all,
It said he’s on Rice St. somewhere in St Paul.

Meanwhile, the Kaiser’s eyes glowed with elation
Santa Claus getting directions from a gas station!
He’d never make it, Christmas was over!
The Kaiser smiled and he kissed his lucky clover.

The Kaiser then drifted into a dark sleep,
And dreamt of cod liver oil and black sheep.
He slept like a stone, with hardly a wiggle,
Except for the occasional evil dream giggle.

And when he awoke, he sprung from the bed
With visions of No Christmas ripe in his head
But from his window, quite to his dismay,
He saw tiny foot prints, and tracks from a sleigh.

The Kaiser spun round and gasping, quite shocked,
He found his small bedroom to be quite well stocked
With presents and candy. He yelled “What a crock!”
When he peeked in his stocking and found a large rock.

And above his stocking there hung a small note
That Santa had left there, and on it he wrote:
“For the new watch I’m thankful, my merry old chap.
Thanks just the same but I’ll stick with my map.”

The Kaiser, defeated, threw a tantrum right there
He spit in his spittoon and pulled out his hair,
He tossed his tree out the window and his rocking chair
Came rocking and tumbling right on down the stairs.

And then something happened that seemed strange to me,
His heart swelled and grew to it’s own size times three.
And the Kaiser was rushed to the hospital of course,
As that heart’s too big, unless you’re a horse.