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Thursday, 13 December 2012

Santa's on the Nicotine Patches

The anti-smoking hysteria reaches new ridiculous heights with a new book of the famous poem, Twas the Night Before Christmas edited four our crazy times. Looney Pamela McColl of Vancouver, Canada, a self published author, spent a fortune touring to promote her new politically correct version of the classic by Clement Clarke Moore - did Ms McColl rewrite the poem? Did she hell! All she did is remove the line -  "The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth. And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath."

And also added a letter from Santa Claus to the back of the book that reads: "all of that old tired business of smoking" is behind me."

As expected the literary camp are up in arms, claiming that this is nothing short of censorship. Looney McColl is unrepentant though saying, "'I have done this to save lives and avoid influencing new smokers."

Deborah Caldwell-Stone, the American Literature Association's deputy director for intellectual freedom  doesn't see tobacco addiction when she considers what McColl has done. "This wasn't a retelling. This wasn't a parody. This wasn't an adaptation. This wasn't a modernization. This wasn't fanfic. This was presenting the original but censoring the content. That kind of expurgation that seeks to prevent others from knowing the original work because of a disapproval of the ideas, the content, is a kind of censorship that we've always disapproved of."

This sort of thing really gets up my tit- I can't recall any pipe smokers telling me they started pipe smoking because of the poem, The Night before Christmas. It is fitting that Hitler was a renowned anti-smoker because the anti-smoking fringe are acting like Nazis.  Think of all those book with reference to smoking that will have to be rewritten - The Sherlock Holmes canon, Lord of the Rings and the list is enless so McColl should be kept busy reworking classics for many years to come.

Here's the original poem with pipe very much included

Twas the Night before Christmas Poem

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tinny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.

(HoHo, Fuck you McColl, Santa did say)
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"



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