Don’t sue me Santa! Make sure you clean up before Christmas 

T’was the night before Christmas, and I was asleep on my back, but someone was prowling, a fat guy with a sack.

He broke into my house to spread Christmas cheer, but what happened instead is still a little unclear.

While creeping across to the living room tree, to leave a present, or two, or three,

Santa must have fell over something, or his feet lost their grip, for he shouted and stumbled as he took a big slip.

As he fell to the floor there arose such a clatter. I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. 

I pulled on my clothes as I walked through the door  And there was the jolly old elf, sprawled out on the floor. 

I ran to his side to see what shape he was in. Santa shouted, “I’ll sue your ass to debtor’s prison.”

I helped the man up and dusted off his coat. He huffed and puffed and cleared his throat. 

“Now calm down, man, don’t be so hasty, You’re supposed to be jolly, not hateful and nasty,”

 I said to the elf who invaded my house. And by then he’d also awakened my spouse.

“My knee,” moaned Santa, “my Anterior Cruciate! I tripped over your furniture, clearly meant to aggravate.”

I knew this event was nothing but tragic.  Then Santa disappeared with some holiday magic. 

The last thing I heard as he flew out of sight, was, “Merry Christmas you jerk. Get a lawyer tonight.”

There is no shortage of attorneys in this great state of ours. Those lawyers, apparently, have massive advertising budgets. 

You can’t view content on television or online, without a guy in a suit asking you if you’ve been in an accident or hurt at work. Our roadways are lined with billboards, with large headshots, phone numbers and slogans showing tough guys in suits ready to get you “what you deserve.” 

One such billboard, several really, caught my attention recently while driving along I-75. The massive advertisement, towering above several lanes of traffic in Macon and Atlanta, depicted Santa Claus, sitting awkwardly on the floor, disoriented and injured. The sign advertised the “premiere fall attorney,” or something along those lines.

Forget peace on Earth, good will toward men, even Santa will take you to court.

Leave it to a lawyer to come up with something like that. I hope that guy, whoever it was, ends up on Santa’s naughty list, though I’m sure he’s not afraid to file litigation whenever he finds his stocking empty on Christmas morning. 

My mother always told me that Santa didn’t come to a dirty house, and every Christmas Eve my brother and I were handed a long list of chores to be completed by supper time. I always thought mama was just using the jolly fat man as an excuse to get a little help around the house, but it seems she was covering her bases. 

Don’t sue me Santa, I’ll make sure the floor is clear before you come to my house.