T’was the night before Christmas, when all through the igloo
Not a creature was stirring, not even an emu;
The rabbits were strung by the bonfire with care,
In hopes that Bonhomme would prefer to eat hare;
The children were fearful and hid in their beds,
While little brown lemurs did jigs on their heads;
Anne Murray in her parka, and Jean in his cap,
Set up in the woods a great beaver trap,
When out on the snow there arose such a clatter,
I threw off the lemurs and watched them all scatter.
Away out the doorway I flew like a flash,
Expecting the Mounties to search for my stash.
The moon on the breast of the great spotted bird
Made the drunken old emu appear quite absurd.
When, what to my crusty red eyes should appear,
But William Shatner, and drinking a beer.
With a little smoked salmon, and poutine-on-a-stick,
I knew in a moment that Bill would be sick.
More eager than beavers his carousers they came,
And he belched, and he spewed, but they came all the same;
“Rex Murphy! Pete Mansbridge! now, Mesley, you vixen!
Come on, you Canucks! Come see what I’m fixin’!
To the top of the igloo! The top of the home!
No oolican, Mansbridge! Don’t polish your dome!”
As snow drifts within an arctic storm fly,
When they meet with an inukshuk, mount to the sky.
So onto the igloo the carousers they flew,
While the Dougs they emerged from eating moose stew.
And then, after tinkling, I heard on the roof,
The Tragically Hip, all acting the goof.
As they struck up the band, and tested the sound,
Down the igloo slid Shatner, all jiggly and round.
He was dressed like the Captain, from his head to his shoe,
And kept on insisting that “I’m Canadian too!”;
After years on the bridge when the Klingons attack,
He moaned of Kirk’s death, with the bridge on his back.
His eyes — how they reddened! his makeup how smudgy!
He’d had so much Molson’s, he’d grown oh so pudgy!
The drool on his mouth froze hard in the snow,
It appeared his sobriety had started to go;
Then beavers appoached us, all baring their teeth,
And lemurs avoided being squished underneath;
To prove his Canuck-ness, Bill showed them his belly
He’d painted with maples leaves seen on the telly.
It was chubby and plump, a right jolly old gut,
And they quailed when they saw it, and pulled his shirt shut;
And shutting their eyes and a holding back vomit,
The beavers turned tail and fled like a comet;
Bill spoke not a word, but went straight to the stage,
And stepped up to the mic; and gave a look that was sage;
And sawing the air with hands as he started,
And lifting his voice, his talent departed;
He bellowed out loud, and the crowd gave a whistle,
And to him they flew like a misguided missile.
But I heard him exclaim to the townsfolk arcadian,
“Happy Christmas to all, and I… AM… CANADIAN!”