The Eighth Day Of Christmas

The carols get sillier. I have a fond memory of strolling along the beach with my father (Christmas of my formative years was always in California) the day after Christmas, bowdlerizing the lyrics to Santa Claus is Coming to Town:
He sees you when you're sleeping.
He knows when you're awake.
He knows if you've been bad or good
But what difference does it make?

So disobey Ma
Doublecross Dad
Ho ho ho? Ha!
It's alright to be bad.
Santa Claus is leavin' this town.

So it filled me with nostalgia yesterday to walk home from Mass with my son, destroying yet another song:

Mom, what tasty treat is this?
May I have some after lunch?
Chocolate sandwich cookie bliss --
I can't wait to eat a bunch.
In X-tra large packages. (2x)