Post by Meredith on Dec 23, 2006 22:32:26 GMT -5
www.rinkworks.com/crazylibs/c/c11.shtml
Have fun with it! Here is my version
'Twas the Night Before Christmas
'Twas the decade before Christmas, and all through the blind melon forum,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a cat.
The birkenstocks were hung by the bean bag chair with care,
In hopes that St. Rogers soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their stools,
While visions of sugar-melons danced in their boobs.
And bumcakes in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the tv to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
jammed open the shutters, and danced up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave the luster of mid-second to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear?
But a stoned melon, and eight tiny porcupines.
With a little old driver, so lively and drunk,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Rogers.
More rapid than cats his porcupines they came,
And he whistled, and drank, and called them by name;
"Now, Dasher! Now, Glen! Now, Guitar and Vixen!
On, Melon! On Dog! On, Tie Dye T Shirt and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! To the top of the cd collection!
Now sang away! Sang away! Sang away all!"
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the bean bag chair St. Rogers came with a bound.
His eyes -- how they smoked! His dimples, how happy!
His bums were like melonheads, his eyes like a melon!
He spoke not a word but went straight to his work,
And filled all the birkenstocks, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his toes aside of his mouth,
And giving a nod, up the bean bag chair he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a hoot,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good decade!"
-- "'Twas the Night Before Christmas," corrupted and abridged.
'Twas the decade before Christmas, and all through the blind melon forum,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a cat.
The birkenstocks were hung by the bean bag chair with care,
In hopes that St. Rogers soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their stools,
While visions of sugar-melons danced in their boobs.
And bumcakes in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the tv to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
jammed open the shutters, and danced up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave the luster of mid-second to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear?
But a stoned melon, and eight tiny porcupines.
With a little old driver, so lively and drunk,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Rogers.
More rapid than cats his porcupines they came,
And he whistled, and drank, and called them by name;
"Now, Dasher! Now, Glen! Now, Guitar and Vixen!
On, Melon! On Dog! On, Tie Dye T Shirt and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! To the top of the cd collection!
Now sang away! Sang away! Sang away all!"
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the bean bag chair St. Rogers came with a bound.
His eyes -- how they smoked! His dimples, how happy!
His bums were like melonheads, his eyes like a melon!
He spoke not a word but went straight to his work,
And filled all the birkenstocks, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his toes aside of his mouth,
And giving a nod, up the bean bag chair he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a hoot,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good decade!"
-- "'Twas the Night Before Christmas," corrupted and abridged.