My mom’s side of the family is Croatian. Every year on Christmas Eve we go up to my grandparents’ house with all of my mom’s siblings and my cousins. We’re a big, loud, obnoxious bunch of judgmental assholes…so it’s a blast. Since it IS Christmas, I’m not gonna make a huge post. We stay home on Christmas Day, maybe go to visit some of the neighbors, but overall, it’s a family day. I’m just going to leave you all with my FAVORITE version of “The Night Before Christmas.” It’s the Croatian version. And trust me: this is how ALL Croatian families are.
‘Twas the Night Before Bozic.
Twas the night before Bozic and all through the kuca,
the air smelled of spicy sarma and rakija vruca.
By the dimljak the slapice were hung kinda krivo,
In hopes that Sveti Nikola would soon bring me some pivo.
Tata was in his soba and he was snoring pretty hard,
I guess he was tired from stealing the tree from my neighbor’s backyard.
Mama was in the basement cooking like a fool,
Adding just the right amount of Vegeta to the juha and fazol.
When out on the lawn there arose such galama,
Tata yelled from his room “Pa, koji je kurac vama!”
There was a knocking on the front door with such a loud barrage,
I yelled through the window “This is a Croatian house…
come in through the garage!”
And standing in the garage right next to my car,
Was my drunk Tetak Joza coming home from the bar.
“Ajde, odi spavat,” I told him with might,
Ain’t nobody gonna ruin my chances of seeing Sveti Nikola tonight.
About two hours later I heard a noise downstairs,
So I jumped from my krevet to see who was there.
Standing by the tree and eating some leftover pizza,
Was good ‘ol Sveti Nikola reeking of homemade sljivovica!
He was all dressed in red and big as an ox,
And wore some brown sandale along with black socks.
Smelling like a gypsy that’s been drinking for days,
He wasn’t what I expected…I was actually amazed.
“U pizdu mater, kako mrzim ovaj posao,” he said,
And then I think he muttered something about his wife
and how he wished she was dead.
He put the presents under the tree while whistling a Christmas beat,
They were all wrapped up kinda shitty with the paper bags from Ottawa
Street.12 carape for me and 12 for my brother,3 pairs of gace for my dad
and a can of turska kava for my mother.
This Croatian Santa was crooked…he was nothing like the fable,
I should of known it when he swiped my pack of smokes from the table.
I yelled “Hey!” as Sveti Nikola turned around like a car,
Throwing his slapa at me as if it were a ninja star.
The look in his eyes was nothing but fright,
He said “Jebo ti pas mater” and dashed out of sight.
Up through the dimljak I heard a loud shriek,
Sveti Nikola had just farted like some wild bik.
He got in his kaput, made for hladne zime,
And he yelled at his jelene, ime po ime.
“Naprijed Marko i Darko, Petar i Ante,
“Ajde Josip i Nenad, Ivo i Mate…”
And then he yelled, “Ajdemo brzo, moramo poc,”
SRETAN BOZIC SVIMA i SVIMA LAKU NOC!!!