'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house of Herman,
Not a creature was stirring, especially not Grandma Merman.
Herman was nestled all snug in his bed,
With visions of pink elephants dancing in his head.
It was at a large store just a few weeks earlier
That the kid had met Santa, and he couldn't have been surlier.
He with his foul mouth and even fouler elf chum,
But Herman couldn't see that he was really a bum.
The inquisitive boy wouldn't leave poor Santa alone,
So Santa decided to follow him home.
He then decided he'd live at Herman's house,
And the kid was happy, he didn't care that he was a louse.
It didn't matter that he smelled like booze,
Or when Herman wanted to talk, he just wanted to snooze.
Nor did he care that Santa wrecked his calendar on which he'd spent his nickels,
Or that Santa was indifferent about Herman's gift of a bloody wooden pickle.
Santa also lied and stole and was often very whiney,
And he took a particular interest in large women's hineys.
But of all this Herman didn't know or didn't care,
He was just happy that old St. Nick was there.
And believe it or not, thanks to the boy, Santa began to change;
He started to realize his priorities should be rearranged.
He beat up some bullies and decided to stop stealing,
He just had one last job to do, and then he'd be done with those dealings.
And while he was fleeing from the law, he had time to think;
For Herman he grabbed an elephant that was pink.
He made it back to the house, but just as he reached the door,
He was shot several times and dropped to the floor.
But thankfully Santa Claus turned out to be okay,
And he and Herman, Mrs. Claus, and Grandma Merman, all live together to this very day.
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Dec 18, 2012 2:51 PM
|Wow. Did we push the envelope this time!|
I don't know whether to be thoroughly impress or completely appalled. If nothing else, it is original.
By the way, how did your movie screener quest work out?
Dec 27, 2012 10:59 PM
|BillyBob played this one to the hilt. Reminded me of Dan Akroyd in Trading Places when he crashed the big party and is reduced to stealing a fish inside his Santa costume.|
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Thoughts, observations, conjectures, complaints about movies and mostly how they relate to me personally. If you're looking for something a little broader, try Ebert.
Born to write (literally – much to the displeasure of his mother, he emerged with a pencil clutched in one tiny fist), Tim spends most of his days crafting epic monosyllabic poems, new comical titles to his favorite Beatles' songs (Hey, Dude), and angry letters to local businesses that have wronged him in some way. He's really an okay guy once you get to know him.|
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