Once upon a time, I wrote a lot of Star Trek fanfiction. And once upon a time, I decided it would be fun to rewrite “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” for the Star Trek universe. So, in honor of the holiday, I’m going to be a bit geeky here, and share my retelling of the story–with respectful acknowledgement to Gene Roddenberry and Dr. Seuss, of course (two men who probably don’t come up in the same sentence all that often).
Happy Holidays to all! And whether you celebrate Christmas or not, and whether you’re a Star Trek fan or not, I hope you get a laugh out of “How the Klingons Stole Christmas.”
How the Klingons Stole Christmas
All the people in the Federation liked Christmas a lot,
But the Klingons on Quo’nos… the Klingons did not!
The Klingons hated the Federation, every alien race!
Now, please don’t ask why; they never stated their case.
It could be that their skull ridges affected their minds,
Or that their big boots weren’t quite the right size.
But I think the most likely reason may be,
That they had too much blood wine on a wild Klingon spree.
Whatever the reason,
The wine or their boots,
The Klingons were all gathered, all in cahoots,
Planning a way, on the twenty-fourth of December,
To distress the Federation, down to every last member.
For they knew they were all preparing for their holiday toast,
And Christmas was when the Federation annoyed the Klingons the most!
“They’re hanging their stockings!” The high chancellor said with a sneer.
“Tomorrow is Christmas! It’s practically here!”
Then he growled (Klingons do that often you see),
“I order you to stop Christmas! I order it! It must not be!
For, tomorrow, he knew…
…Everyone in the Federation
Would wake up and find presents, find the decoration.
And then! Oh the joys! Joys! Joys! Joys!
Their enemies: happy! How they hated the JOYS! JOYS! JOYS! JOYS!
Then they all, young and old, would sit down to their feasts.
And they’d feast! And they’d feast!
And they’d FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! FEAST!
They would start on plum pudding, and rare Vulcan-roast-beast,
Which was something the Klingons couldn’t stand in the least!
They’d do something the chancellor liked least of all!
Every person in the Federation, the tall and the small,
Would send subspace messages of holiday cheer.
And that annoyed the Klingons even worse than stale beer.
They’d send. And they’d send!
AND they’d SEND! SEND! SEND! SEND!
And the more the Klingons thought of the messages they’d send,
The more the Klingons thought, “This whole thing must end!
Since our first contact we’ve put up with this, and now
We MUST stop Christmas from coming!
Then they got an idea!
An awful idea!
GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!
“We know just what to do!” they said, taking their bows.
And they made pointed ears and slanted eyebrows,
And the chancellor chuckled, “What a great thing we’ve done!
With these ears and eyebrows, we’ll each look like a Vulcan!
Those stupid Feds will never suspect!
This clever trick will get us into Sto-Vo-Kor yet!”
“All we need is a ship…”
The Klingons looked around.
But since the show’s budget was small, there were none to be found.
Did that stop the Klingons?
No! The chancellor simply said,
“If we can’t find a ship, we’ll make one instead!”
So he called his cook Klax, and he told the poor guy,
“Turn your old stove into something that can fly!”
They loaded some bags,
And sacks by the trove,
With a stack of disrupters,
And piled into the stove.
Then the Chancellor said, “To warp!”
And they headed for the Federation,
Looking for certain ships,
The ones with Christmas decoration.
The ships’ shields were down, placid stars quietly lay,
All the Starfleet were relaxed, seeing no cause for dismay,
When they came to the first starship in their way.
“This is stop number one,” the old chancellor hissed.
The Klingons made for the docks, disruptors in their fists.
Towards the cargo bay they aimed, and the little ship dove,
A close fit, but if shuttles could do it, then so could the stove.
They bumped the walls only once, for a moment or four.
Then they landed and stepped out on the shuttlebay floor,
Where boxes of garlands were neatly stacked.
“These garlands,” they grinned, “are the first things sacked!”
Then they slithered and slunk, with smiles most unpleasant,
Around the whole ship, and they took every present!
Mistletoe! Wreaths! Anti-grav skates! Drums!
3-D Chess! Stockings! Popcorn and plums!
And they stuffed them in bags. Then the Klingons, how they hove,
Stuffed all the bags, one by one, in the stove.
Then they slunk to the replicators, and took the food patterns!
They took the one for turkey, for pudding, for Rigelian ratterns!
They made those replicators useless, quick as a flash.
Why, they even took the pattern for Andorian Hash!
Then they stuffed all the food in the stove with glee.
“And NOW!” grinned the Chancellor, “I will stuff in the tree!”
And the Chancellor grabbed the tree, and he started to shove,
When he heard a small sound, like the coo of a dove.
The Klingons turned ‘round fast, and they saw a small Ensign!
The only crew on duty, little red-shirted Benson.
The Klingons had been caught by this small officer, just one,
Who’d seen on the sensors that something was being done.
Benson stared at the Klingons and said, “Vulcan ambassadors, why,
Why are you taking the Christmas tree? WHY?”
But, you know, that old chancellor was so smart and so slick
He thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick!
“Why, your decorations aren’t arranged,” the fake Vulcan lied,
“In a way that is logical; they’re badly stacked on one side.
So we’re taking them to Vulcan to fix them for you.
Then all will be logical, all will be true!”
And his fib fooled Benson, who was relieved to the utmost,
And he left the ‘Vulcans’ and went back to his post.
And when Benson was on the bridge, ignoring the din,
HE went to the stove and stuffed the tree in!
Then the last thing they took
Was the holographic fire.
Then they went in the stove themselves, the old liars.
In the shuttlebay they left only hooks and some wires.
And the one speck of food,
That was left to nibble
Was a crumb that was even too small for a tribble.
They did the same thing
To all the other ships, too.
Leaving no presents
To be delivered,
By any other crew.
It was a quarter past dawn…
All the crews, still a-sleep
All the crews, still a-snooze.
When they packed up the heap,
Packed the stove with their presents! The ribbons! The wrappings!
The tags! And the tinsel! The trimmings! The trappings!
Dozens of light-years they went! Back to their empire,
To destroy all the presents was their only desire!
“What a joke on the Feds,” the chancellor was humming.
“They’re finding out now that no Christmas is coming!
They’re just waking up! I know just what they’ll do!
They’ll call all their neighbors, to see if it’s true.
And when they see that it is, they’ll all cry BOO-HOO!”
“That’s a cry,” grinned the Klingons,
“That we simply must hear.”
So they went to their comm, to intercept messages there.
And from the Federation the messages came through.
They started out small. Then greater they grew!
But the messages weren’t sad!
Why, these sounded merry!
It couldn’t be so!
But they WERE merry! VERY!
They stared at their screens.
The Chancellor popped his eyes.
Then they shook!
What they saw was a shocking surprise!
All the citizens of the Federation, both the tall and the small,
Were sending messages of good cheer. Without any presents at all!
They HADN’T stopped Christmas from coming!
Somehow or other, it came just the same!
And the Klingons, standing on Quo’nos, on Warrior’s Hill,
Stood puzzling and puzzling: “How can it be here still?
It came without ribbons! It came without tags!
It came without packages, boxes or bags!”
And they puzzled three hours, till their puzzlers were sore.
Then the Klingons thought of something they hadn’t before.
“Maybe Christmas,” they thought, “doesn’t come from a store.
Maybe Christmas…perhaps…means a little bit more!
Maybe there’s something to Christmas that we never knew.
And maybe there’s more to this Federation too!”
And what happened then…?
Well, in the Federation they say,
That the Klingon’s blood wine
Finally wore off that day.
And the minute they felt just a little bit sober,
Back to the Federation, they rushed right over
And they brought back the toys! And the food for the feast!
The Chancellor signed the treaty for peace!
But the Klingons didn’t rest then, oh no!
For next week the Romulans would be on the go,
Planning THEIR holiday, and the Klingons just didn’t know,
If they could put up with ONE more year of THAT lousy show!