Pas­send zur Jah­res­zeit von Phil­ipp Winn:

‚Twas the night befo­re Christ­mas, and San­ta was a wreck.
How to live in a world that’s poli­ti­cal­ly correct?
His workers no lon­ger would ans­wer to „Elves“.
„Ver­ti­cal­ly Chal­len­ged,“ they were cal­ling themselves;

And labor con­di­ti­ons at the North Pole
Were alle­ged by the uni­ons to stif­le the soul.
The reinde­er had vanis­hed, wit­hout much propriety,
Released to the wilds by the Huma­ne Society.

And equal employ­ment had made it quite clear
That San­ta had bet­ter not use just reindeer.
So Dancer and Don­ner, Comet and Cupid,
Were repla­ced by four pigs, and you know that loo­ked stupid!

The run­ners had all been remo­ved from his sleigh;
The ruts were ter­med dan­ge­rous by the EPA.
And peo­p­le had star­ted to call for the cops
When they heard sled noi­ses on their roof-tops.

Smo­ke from his pipe had workers quite frightened.
His fur-trim­med suit was cal­led, „unen­ligh­ten­ed.“
And to show you the stran­gen­ess of life’s ebbs and flows,
Rudolph was suing over use of his nose.

He had gone on Geral­do, in front of the nation,
Deman­ding mil­li­ons in over-due compensation.
So, half of the reinde­er were gone; and his wife,
Who sud­den­ly said she’d enough of this life,

Joi­n­ed a self-help group, packed, left in a whiz,
Deman­ding from now on her title was Ms.
And as for the gifts, he’d never had a notion
That making a choice could cau­se so much commotion.

Not­hing of lea­ther, not­hing of fur,
Which meant not­hing for him, and not­hing for her.
Not­hing that might be con­strued to pollute.
Not­hing to aim, not­hing to shoot.

Not­hing that clamo­red or made lots of noise.
Not­hing for just girls, or just for the boys.
Not­hing that clai­med to be gen­der specific,
Not­hing that’s war­li­ke, or non-pacifistic.

No can­dy or sweets – they were bad for the tooth
Not­hing that see­med to embel­lish a truth.
And fairy tales, while not yet forbidden,
Were like Ken and Bar­bie, bet­ter off hidden.

They rai­sed the hack­les of tho­se psychological,
Who clai­med the only good gift was ecological.
No base­ball, no foot­ball, someone could get hurt;
Bes­i­des, play­ing sports expo­sed kids to dirt.

Dolls were said to be sexist, and should be passe.
Nin­ten­do would rot your enti­re brain away.
So San­ta just stood the­re, dis­he­ve­led, perplexed;
He just could not figu­re out what to do next.

He tried to be mer­ry, he tried to be gay,
But you’­ve got to be careful with that word today.
His sack was quite emp­ty, limp to the ground;
Not­hing accep­ta­ble was to be found.

Some­thing spe­cial was nee­ded, a gift that he might
Give to all wit­hout ange­ring the left or the right.
A gift that would satis­fy, with no indecision,
Each group of peo­p­le, every religion;

Every eth­ni­ci­ty, every skin hue;
Ever­yo­ne, ever­y­whe­re – even you.
So here is that gift, it’s pri­ced bey­ond worth -
„May you and your loved ones enjoy peace on earth.“