'Twas the night before June 14th.


‘Twas the night before Saturday and all through the house,
everyone was partying, even the louse.
The keg was half full, by the chimney with beer,
and hopes that Fat Mike soon would be there.
(He went to get the pizza.)
Then from the roof, there was a big crash.
The crowd rushed out to investigate,
ready to kick ass.
There he was,
up on the roof,
with a shot gun in one hand,
in the other a bottle of 100 proof.
He pulled out his list
and began to shoot.
“Fuck you, and you, and you,
for just wanting my loot.
The crowd quickly scattered,
then began to plot.
We’ll send that fat bastard to hell,
and there he will rot.
So they went to their homes
and got some fire arms.
They were ready and willing
to do the fat man some harm.
They got back to the house
to get such a scare.
That evil Saint Nick
was no longer there.
"He went down the chimney,"
called a voice from the back.
They bum rushed the house
to start their attack.
Santa may be drunk,
but the boy is not dumb.
He shot from the window
as they started to run.
Some made it inside.
Some not at all.
Santa didn’t care.
"They’re all going to fall."
He shot up the chimney
and snuck in the back.
Santa had plans,
for his own sneak attack.
Using his silencer,
he killed Jim and Jane
and then from his pinky ring,
he snorted cocaine.
His plan was in affect,
he killed big and small.
If the Easter Bunny was aware.
He’d surely be appalled.


He kicked down the door
and cut off Bill’s head.
Then sat on the couch
and counted the dead.
Not a person was living,
not even the louse.
So he shot up the chimney
and jumped to the next house.
Fat Mike soon arrived
with pizza in hand.
With the site of the scene,
he barely could stand.
"Who did this to you?"
He yelled out in fright.
"We battled St. Nick
and we lost the fight."
"I’ll get him, you’ll see,
that bastard will die"
He fell by his girl
and started to cry.
He loaded up some ammo
and hopped in his car,
which was running on empty
so he didn’t go far.
He grabbed more weapons
and loaded a truck,
the owners are dead,
they don’t give a fuck.
He drove down the streets
all covered with death.
Looking for the man
that caused such a mess.
There’s good old St Nick
up on the roof
finishing another bottle
of that 100 proof.
Santa’s now Predator
with a skull in his hand,


he’s drinking so much,
it’s hard for him to stand.
Mike flashes his light into Santa’s eyes
and fires his shot gun.
But Santa is gone
Mike started to run.
He got to the door
and then kicked it down.
That’s where he saw it
and it was profound.
He looked toward the ceiling
and that’s where they hang,
three skinless bodies
with dangling veins.
Mike rushed up the stairs
to start off his battle,
but up on the roof
he hears something rattle.
Mike rushed out the door
to see where Santa went
to find him next door.
No time will be spent.
Mike kicked down the door
with all of his might.
Santa’s now unarmed
and ready to fight.
He swings with his left
and blocks with his right.
He punched the old man in the face
with all of his might.
Santa just smiles,
grabbing Mike by the neck.
This guy may be old,
but he’s got Mike in check.
He swings with his right,
clocking Mike in the head.
Mike’s vision is blurred
and covered with red.
Mike falls to the ground
and finds a hot poker.
He swings with all his might
and hits that fat porker.
Santa just smiled
and then made a fist.
He swung like a mad man,
but this time he missed.
Mike got to his feet
and lifted his knees,
hitting Santa in that spot
to make every man wheeze.
Finding that his weakness
Mike started to pound.
Look at St. Nick,
in a ball on the ground.
Mike turned his head quick.
Santa jumped to his feet.
He chuckled and laughed,
“I cannot be beat.”


Mike looks to Santa’s hand
and saw his big knife
but just to Mike’s luck,
in walked Santa’s wife.
The fear in his eye
was far worse than all.
He fell to his knees
and started to crawl
“What are you doing?
You drunken fool.
If you kill them all,
then who will you rule?”
“That’s where you’re wrong.
That wasn't my plan.
I must have just snapped.
I am just a man.”
The violence is over
and in comes the news.
That’s when Santa blurts out
“You fucking Jews.”
"You calm down Santa
this isn't a joke,"
but Santa’s still out of it,
all hopped up on coke.
“I’m fuckin’ Santa Claus,
they’ll forgive and forget.
Just some extra nice presents
And I’ll win this bet.”
A few months go by
and that fat man was right,
plastic murders on the lawn
all lit up with lights.
He gave Mike a car.
He took it, being no fool.
Santa is smart
and he knows the rule.
Pee-Wee can't beat off
and Howard can’t cuss,
but O.J. and M.J.
are people like us.
Santa just went postal,
what’s the big surprise?
Just him and elves,
UPS in holiday disguise.

Matt Bunker

I started out with a goal of becoming a paid screenwriter. I had no interest in any other aspect of filmmaking. I received and scholarship to The Vancouver Film School's Writing for Film and Television program where I graduated in 2005. I fell in love with being on set during my first non-school produced short, . I loved being around all the creative people, seeing people having fun while working. The whole liking your job was a new world to me, so I decided to give it a shot. I volunteered for any project I could, doing what ever was needed. The set was my Film School this time. While working as a PA on a feature I was informed that the DP wanted the three tallest PAs to help out in the grip and electric department. That is when I found the department that felt like the best fit for me while I continued to write.