silicong beach christmas

Twas the Night Before Christmas… In Silicon Beach

‘Twas the night before Christmas in Silicon Beach L.A.,

Not a creature was stirring, thanks to DogVacay;

The wetsuits were hung by the door & with luck,

a 5am surf then hit Dawn Patrol Truck.

The children should be all snug in their beds,

While visions of sugar-plums dance in their heads.

But Billy’s on RiotGames & Suzie JustFab;

my AmEx is missing and I’m scared for the tab.

When out on the lawn there arose such a fray,

I hit my elarm and got out pepper spray.

Ran to the window and looked to the sky,

Cracked open a window, heard the sound amplify.

Off the new-fallen snow the moon brightly shone,

Instacanvas-worthy so I grabbed my iPhone.

I expected a burglar, a drone or a bear,

or a baller like Suster jetting in on SurfAir.

Away in the distance a sleigh did appear,

greener than Tesla, ’twas powered by deer.

It must be St. Nick, but we’ve been nothing but bad,

unless MapSense is down, he’ll skip past this RadPad.

Billy and Suzie were absolute brats,

fighting, yelling, screen-grabbing snapchats.

And I, no saint either, gave both a good smack,

the wife’s been a Nasty Gal… at least in the sack.

I sat there mentally assigning these blames,

then heard in the distance the most unusual names.

“Now! Ranker, now! Cramster, now! Tradesy, and Zoondy,”

“On! Rexter, on! Panjo, on! Vokle and Lootsie;”

And like that they shot up, at least 30 miles north,

I figured they’d left, gone on and moved forth;

but then a thump from above, could it actually be?

No need for an Evite, no need for ParkMe;

Santa had come and was up on my roof,

From the fireplace, a noise and a poof;

next a thump and a bang and and an “ouch” and a boom.

I typed “injury waiver” as I searched LegalZoom.

Out he came tumbling, a mess of dust, bricks & mortar,

I considered asking St Nick to reimburse me for Porter.

A big harry man with a smile none kinder,

likely considered a “bear” if profiled in Grindr.

Cheeks all rosy like he’d come from the pub,

and clearly not a member of the Dollar Shave Club.

He spoke not a word and no time did he lag,

Somehow pulling gift after gift from his little black bag.

For me a pair of skinnies I’d seen on 20Jeans,

and a device made by Pipesicles for enjoying my greens.

Despite the wife’s dirty secrets, and closed-door sins,

The latest Beachmint styles, picked by grown Full House twins,

The kids demand media to fill their ADD needs,

so a subscription to Hulu beat out that of Goodreads.

After a wink and a nod, he floated up to his sled,

Gravity as relevant to him as our civil rights to a Fed.

He let out a sharp whistle and held the reigns tight,

my roof as his launchpad, they shot up into the night.

Fireworks in his wake, the sky was well lit,

And like Nazar and DocStoc… ’twas an impressive exit.

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