And to all a good night … and a bit of good grief, too
By John Morton
‘Twas the month before Christmas, and all through the isle
Free trees were everyone, just find a good pile
Keep that eggnog flowing, keep your guests on the sauce
And they’ll never know your tinsel is really Spanish moss
Deck the halls with boughs of palm fronds, it’s what we’re seein’
And busted pine cones for ornaments, thanks so much Ian
And instead of a stocking with a lump of coal
How about a visit soon after from his girlfriend Nicole?
Now Calle Miramar! Now Old Stickney! Now former Wells Fargo!
Prompting letters to Santa asking for a hotel embargo
And the lawsuits were filed at the county with care
In hopes that a man in a much different robe would soon be there
Sugar cookies were baked, plus brownies and fudge
Sent to the 12th Circuit Court to sweeten that judge
In hopes that he’ll tell Anderson, Dr. Gary, and Balot
That NO is the answer, not with gavel but mallet
Seeing as our community has its fair share of rifts
Let Siesta Sand Santa smooth things over with holiday gifts
Giving is what I do, I possess such propensity
Unless it’s something outrageous like unlimited density
Come on now, I know it’s the Christmas season
But I ask that you try to keep requests within reason
What’s that you say? This already took place?
Several on the naughty list are snickering with maniacal grins on their face?
Right or wrong, good or bad, it’s time we were with
A local on the county commission, my gift is Mark Smith
Time to please many others, and I’ll do it en masse
My sleigh arriving by dolphin through an open Midnight Pass
House of the Sun is first; so tell me, what’s the rub?
You say want a little musical revenge on the ol’ Crescent Club?
Allow me to book you a street-side guest to stop your wailin’
That’s right, a reservation for a resurrected Eddie Van Halen
Anna’s Deli, you say you still want your expansion?
Our reality show moved to Miami, so there’s room in the mansion
For Save Siesta Key, another year of waiting would sure be a pity
For a group of determined folks who want to be a city
So here’s what I’ll give you, before another potential painful vote
A yacht the size of a town and then set you afloat
Heck, the S.S.K. already sounds like the name of a boat
Complete with dinghies named Buchanan, Gregory and Robinson? I’ll make a note
For the anti-hotel folks, I sure hope this is legal
When I send down your chimney not me but Mark Spiegel
Mini-reef lovers, you’ll receive in your hanging sock
Jean Cannon’s one-woman rendition of “What’s up Dock?”
Not a creature is stirring, you say, not even a mouse?
Clearly you don’t live next door to people in an illegal hotel house
It is true that even for you folks my generosity does run a-plenty
But I’m not delivering Christmas Eve pizzas for one-hundred-and-twenty
At Gilligan’s I’ll bestow upon you rock n’ roll heaven
Go ahead and have live music playing 24/7
But let me just warn you, you don’t want to tick-off
A neighborhood so tough it survived eating Big Olaf
Even the bad guys get gifts, such as those who rob
Here’s a staple remover, now good luck at the SKOB
For the packs of riders who continue to make us scream “yikes!”
I’ve removed the beach ban on those electronic bikes
So crank ‘em all up to 40, and rest those weary feet
Oh, and sorry I forgot to mention I removed each and every seat
Speaking of gifts, would someone out there finally say
Who pulled the trigger on Memorial Day
Our favorite guys named Mike, I haven’t forgotten about you
No mediators, no lawyers, just a holiday dinner for two
For answers to problems, some dial 1-800-ASK-GARY
But may I suggest we look to the man here most merry?
No, that’s not me, I arrive but once a year oh-so nary
I’m talking about a photo bomber we love, and his name is Larry
Who else demonstrates such unconditional care?
Whether you want it or not, he’s always right there
Want proof of his generosity? OK, just ask it
He’s my only subject in history to send me a thank-you basket
If I missed anyone in error, getting past me a la Bill Buckner
Spare me a thorough investigation, telling neither Luckner nor Luckner
Oh, and to our fishy friends that don’t live on the land
May you continue to feel nice and snug, wrapped tight in the Siesta Sand
Fact is, dear friends, life on Siesta is low on trouble
Especially when you see those to the south dealing with rubble
As we know, it’s important whether we be Santa or elves
To count all our blessings and laugh at ourselves
And with that we bid adieu to the man they call Mort
Who hopes your Christmas is great, and that you are one heckuva sport
(John Morton is managing editor of Siesta Sand.)
Author: John Morton