'Twas the week before Christmas, and all through the resort,
The weebums of Whistler hung on snow reports,
For the weebums were restless and hungry for flakes
(And busy with work because that's what it takes.)
But some weebums were sad, I'm sorry it's true,
Why, some weebums inside were a deep shade of blue,
Despite all this white gold, this pow-pow, this schmoo,
Because some of these weebums, to Whistler, were new.
Some of the new weebums are a long way from home,
From eastern West Australia or the suburbs of Rome.
From Europe, from Iceland, from Africa too,
From South America, Asia and Kalamazoo.
And this is the first Christmas they've been away from home,
And those new weebums, have been feeling a little bit alone.
A little bit homesick and a little bit lost,
"I'm working on Christmas?"
"You are!" said their boss.
Would Santa find them out here, would packages arrive?
Would the Christmas Spirit survive, or just wither and die?
For how can it be merry without all those traditions?
And family around, singing carol renditions?
But no fear, we've all been here, we weebums understand,
For we all faced that first Yule away from mom and dad.
And we know that it's hard and we know you'll feel wrong,
And we know there are emotions packed in each Christmas song.
But though it's a lot different, it isn't the end!
Instead of our families, we celebrate with our friends,
And most weebums will tell you that it isn't so bad,
In fact, Whistler Christmas is actually quite rad!
For it's almost always white, so old Bing would approve,
And it's covered with lights, and there's so much to do.
There's sledding and skating and 'shoeing and what's more
Drinking hot chocolate by the fire, and answering the door,
And if you're working, then know that you're kind of an elf,
Making this Christmas jolly for somebody else.
There will be some sort of dinner (though it won't be the same),
And some kind of presents (and some of them lame),
There will be some kind of Christmas spirit, the kind poured into a flute,
There will be some kind of stocking (probably jammed into a boot.)
But family is really not that far away, after all,
In fact, it's as easy as making a call.
And new weebums will realize that it's actually better,
'Cause nobody will cram you into an itchy Christmas sweater,
Or make you spend time with your crazy Aunt Jill
Or mad uncle Martin or your drunk cousin Bill.
Nobody is saying "Get a haircut!" or "Change your clothes!"
Or, "please, for this picture, take that ring from your nose."
Nobody is cramming thirds and fourths down your throat.
Or asking you to pass around the gravy boat.
Instead you can do what you like, all you weebums,
Start some new traditions for your Christmas season.
Do what you like, when and where and with who,
Make it a Christmas that's all about you.
Go to the spa or go soak in a pool,
Go skiing dressed as Santa and act like a fool.
Do something this Christmas that's out of the blue,
Like go for a wander in a pair of snowshoes.
Make the best of it weebums, if you think you can't take it
Remember that Christmas is just what you make it.
Miss your home if you must, a lot of us do,
And all of us remember what it was like to be new.
But don't let that stop you from shouting, far into the night,
Merry Christmas, you weebums, and to all a good night!
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