Santa’s belly

Shakes when he chuckles

Like a bowl full of jelly

Or a bag full of knuckles

Or a sack full of kittens

Or a drawer full of fishes

Or electrified mittens

Or precarious dishes

I say this because

If you couldn’t telly

Is that Santa Claus

Has one crazy belly


It’s snowy white

That Santa’s beard

Unlike the night

That he appeared

Beside the fireplace

Leaving treats

And in a blink’s space

He beat feets

But his beard lingered

In my mind

As my stocking fingered

The treats I’d find


Santa’s hat

Is rather fat

To fit his heavy head

But you never did

Peep Santa’s lid

Because you were in bed

Cuz Santa’s cap

Knows when you nap

And when you are awake

And with that

Don’t cross his hat

Or your toys he’ll take!


Greetings, Crime Stoppers! Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you all, from your favorite Dark Knight, The Batman. As I look out upon the snow-speckled roofs of Gotham City, my Bat-Eyes scanning for criminal activity, I feel the need to clear up a few misconceptions surrounding me. These rumors seem to crop up especially at this time of year, so I felt this was the perfect time to address them.

I do not smell. My Bat-Suit is awash in a Bat-Musk which smells of sandalwood, vanilla and a hint of bat.

Robin has not, nor will he ever lay an egg. As a human male, he is incapable of doing so. And if, say, The Penguin built an Egg Lay Ray and blasted Robin with it, I have a Bat-De-Egg-Layer shot to counteract it.

The last time a Batmobile lost a wheel, we installed a Bat Homing Device to ensure we’d never lose a wheel ever again. Ever. Again.

The Joker, sadly, has gotten away. Several times. But this is no time for celebration. When The Joker gets away, Robin and I do not shout, “Hey,” in a festive Bat Unison. We shout, “Hey,” in despair and Bat Alarm. As should all citizens who hate crime.

Anyhow, I hope this clarifies a silly schoolyard song. Batman out!




The elfish on the shellfish is filled with elation

As he helps himself to more and more crustacean.

While the others are working, this playful imp

Is eating Santa’s secret stash of jumbo shrimp.

He knows he’ll be punished if one comes across

This elf with his shrimp and his cocktail sauce.

But he doesn’t mind, he’s filled with glee

As he stuffs his face with this snack of the sea.

The toys the kids get might smell a bit fishy

But they’ll never tell because children aren’t dishy.

The elf need not worry as he eats his shellfish

He’s naughty, not sharing and being so selfish.


“Jingle Bells, The Squash Smells, But He Smells Real Good!” sang Eugene Spratt as he placed the Christmas cookie and milk on the fireplace. There had been five gingerbread cookies on the plate for Santa, but four of them had mysteriously vanished. It was a mystery worthy of the greatest gourd-based superhero, The Squash, but he was on vacation. Christmas vacation! After defeating a cakepire, Triffid, Ladybug Lady and many other crazy creatures whose adventures will be recounted another time, Eugene was ready for a break. Plus, Christmas was exciting enough. Sitting by the fireplace, the glow of the multi-colored Christmas tree lights the only illumination, he dreamed of the morning to come. What presents would he open? A life-size ice cream truck? A banjo? A cheese and sausage basket? A travel coffee mug? A fake moustache kit? Who knew, except for Santa Claus. And that was Eugene’s cue.

“Time for bed,” he said, just as his parents came in to suggest that very thing. Eugene had to be careful with his Squash-like powers (such as ESP, or Extra-Squashlike-Perception), since his parents didn’t know about his superhero identity. “I’m just so excited,” he added, cleverly covering up his faux-pas.

“Off to bed with you,” his mother laughed. “Wait, what happened to Santa’s cookies?”

“Boy, am I tired!” Eugene said, making his way to his bedroom. Stomach full of cookie, head of dancing sugar plums, Eugene crawled into bed. “I cannot wait for Christmas day, I don’t know how I’ll-“ he started.

The next thing he knew, the house was dark and quiet. Almost quiet. There was a scratching at Eugene’s window. For a moment, Eugene was disoriented. His eyes adjusted, and his brain unfuzzed and he realized it was still Christmas Eve night. He went to the window to see what the scratching was, only slightly afraid of what he’d find.

“Ho, ho, ho! Hello there!” the familiar figure in the tree called out. “Eugene Spratt, it is I, Santa Claus! You remember, from the mall and the street corner. I’ve crashed my sleigh into your birch tree, and I could use your assistance.”

“Hi, Santa. First of all, big fan. Second of all, I’m not sure what I can do to help you in your predicament. I mean, I’m just a small boy in the fourth grade. What can I do to help you?”

“Ho, ho, ho! Please, Eugene, you forget. I am Santa, I see all. I know of your super-heroic exploits. I’ve read about them on a blog.”

“You’re the one who reads that blog?”

“The one and only, but listen Eugene! I need you to help me out of this tree. Otherwise, you see, I’ll be unable to deliver presents and Christmas will be ruined. Ho, ho, ho!”

Eugene thought quick. Throwing on his robe and slippers, he leapt from his bedroom window onto the snowy lawn. Shooting a vine from his hand, he pulled the branch back as far as he could, and let go. The sleigh flung through the air, freed from the tree. “Thank you, Squash! And Meeeeerry Christmas! Ho, ho, ho! Green Giant away!”

“Thank you, Santa! Have a Happy New Year!” Eugene said. And they did.

POSTSCRIPT: Eugene had an awesome Christmas! A life-sized banjo! A moustache basket! An ice cream kit! The End!


Welcome to a new feature on Cotton Candy Beard, the CCB List! Today’s list is (almost) seasonally appropriate, as it relates to Christmas. We here at CCB were fortunate enough to get our hands on a highly edifying list. It dates back to 459 BC, way back when Santa Claus was just getting started. He’d recently acquired reindeer from the Furry Non-People Creatures Rescue League. He had to come up with names for each of them, to avoid confusion. At first, he called them all Peggy, but since there were eight of them, this was a chaotic system. Here is a list of what were ultimately rejected names (the reindeer were named by Clement C. Moore, days later.)

1.     Christmas Yves

2.     Rein-bow Connection

3.     Lando Calculicious

4.     Derek Verboten

5.     Ouroboros Borealis

6.     Rudolph

7.     Ol’ Horned Head

8.     Baby Horned Head

9.     Yuppie Horned Head

10.  Senor Arturo FuertePants

11.  Nicky the Mustache

12.  Brenda iBrowse

13.  Smasher

14.  Splasher

15.  Brasher

16.  Fixion

17.  Meteor

18.  Cherub

19.  Schwander

20.  Peggy


Dear Santa,

Please send me sixteen shrunken heads

And forty-four nails for my bed

An atom bomb, some toxic waste

Gorilla brains with salt to taste

A hunchback who will do my bidding

Needle and thread (but not for knitting

They’re to keep my head attached

So I won’t wake to find it snatched!)

A werewolf to howl at the moon

A haunted flute or cursed bassoon

An iron maiden, extra ferrous

A silly hat to kid-embarrass

And for my bridge an ugly troll

Or else you could just give me coal!

I wouldn’t care, I’m not that haughty

I promise I’ve been extra naughty

Goodness and I never commingle

I swear to it, Mr. Kringle.

My list has reached its denouement, sir.


I remain,