Christmas Makes Me Sick

I'm surprised I never posted this. It dates back to just before I started the blog, I think. Here 'tis:

Christmas Makes Me Sick

This time every year, Santa comes down the flue.
Meanwhile, just to be parallel, I contract the flu.
Santa hands out presents every Christmastime.
Me, I deliver germs and coughs and buckets of nasal slime, 'cause

Christmas makes me sick.
Christmas makes me sick.
Every year a fever visits just before old Saint Nick.
Christmas makes me cough.
Christmas makes me spew.
Don't talk to me about peace and joy.
I'm full of Christmas goo.

Gonna live in a Christmas bubble,
a festive plastic home.
I won't let Santa in unless he disinfects his gnomes.
Please don't bring me presents.
In fact, don't come at all.
I'm fine here alone in my plastic home drinking germ-proof alcohol, cause

Christmas makes me sick.
Christmas makes me sick.
Every year a fever visits just before old Saint Nick.
Christmas makes me cough.
Christmas makes me spew.
Don't talk to me about peace and joy.
I'm coughing up fondue.

Asian! Avian! Spanish! Fun!
It's killed more than World War I.
The grippe, the croup, the hacking cough,
knocking half of Europe off.
Russian, swine and Hong Kong hit.
Thank you, antigenic shift.
Nature wracks its fiendish brains
to deck the halls with new flu strains.

Christmas makes me sick.
Christmas makes me sick.
Every year a fever visits just before old Saint Nick.
Christmas makes me cough.
Christmas makes me spew.
Don't talk to me about peace and joy.