A Christmas poem for Hot Rod owners. T'was the night before Christmas, an old Hot Rod is in my garage, It don’t matter if it’s a Plymouth, Ford, Chevy or Dodge. The chrome and paint were polished perfection, hoping to p*** Santa's inspection. 4 new tires were placed by the chimney with care hoping St. Nicholas would fill them with air. When all of a sudden there was a thunderous roar, Santa started my ride and opened the garage door. With a wink of his eye, he sped off out of sight, My hot rod was gone in the dark of the night! I awoke the next morn, my mind full of fear. Did Santa trade my coupe for eight tiny reindeer? Then all became clear as I opened the door. Santa preferred reins and a sleigh to my 4 on the floor. I chuckled and smiled at what I found inside. T'was a note from Santa sayin' "thanks for the joyride". He'd filled my garage with presents galore. A new carb and some spark plugs. He left my keys in the door. The note clearly said that he'd not return soon, but he promised to visit on a warm night this June. Said he'd be wearin' Bermuda shorts, and a shirt Mrs Claus would be choosin' I should have the tank full 'cause he wants to go cruisin'. Merry Christmas!
The Jalopy Journal
