Half a croissant, on a plate, with a sign in front of it saying '50c'

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A Week Before Christmas
Sorta Claus takes a holiday
  (+26, -6)(+26, -6)
(+26, -6)
  [vote for,
against]


Twas a week before Christmas, when all through [jutta]’s house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The croissants were hung, ‘longside fishbones with care,
In thanks for the ‘bakery, and the friends we find there.

The ‘bakers were nestled in Galloping Bunk Beds,
Whilst visions of Road Cones danced in their heads.
And [jutta] in her Cradle Bed, and [hippo] in his cap,
Had just settled in For An Extra Hour’s Winter nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

I twice shook my head, closed and opened my eyes,
But nothing could stem that first rush of surprise,
There, ‘fore my wondering eyes, big as moons,
Was a bloody great airship, held up by balloons.

With a cute little driver, so lively and quick,
I knew her before, and after, the lass became sick.
Soar higher than eagles her ideas oft’ did,
And she pencilled and coloured and drew ours unbid!

"Now [bigsleep]! now, [Rayford] now, [MaxwellBuchanan]!
On, [Tindale]! On, you, [po]! on [xenxag] and [bungston]!
To the top of the page! To the top of them all!
Now bake away! Bake away! Bake away, all!"

As with ideas that before the wild halfbakers fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, commonsense decry.
So up to the house-top the baking team flew,
With the sleigh full of ideas, and St [Bristolz] too.

And then, midst the twinkling of the Enchanted Eaves on my roof
I heard Aluminum Can Shingles crack and crinkle underhoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St [Bristolz] came with a bound.

She was dressed all in fur, from her head to her foot,
And her clothes were all sparkling, unblemished by soot.
With bundles of Marasquitos and Cream Cheese Rings in her pack,
Oh!, she looked like an angel, with wings on her back.

Her eyes! How they twinkled! Her dimples how merry!
Her cheeks were like roses, her lips red as cherries!
Her cute little miniskirt, tied back with a bow,
Rose as she sat, down at my piano.

With sheet music clasped tight twixt perfect white teeth,
Beautiful blonde hair swirled ‘round her head in a wreath.
She had a slim face and no sign of a belly,
Just the look of a weathergirl, fresh off the telly!

Her quick fingers flew, over keys black and white,
And glorious music rose and gladdened the night,
A wink of her eye and incline of her head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

She spoke not a word, but beautifully played,
I knew it must finish, that she couldn’t have stayed,
Then laying one finger aside her cute button nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney she rose!

And I heard her say, as she boarded her Hullaballoon,
"And then you can flap your arms and fly to the moon."
We all miss St [Bristolz]. She fought a good fight.
Please hold close to each other, come this Christmas night…


UnaBubba, Dec 18 2007

William Topaz McGonagall http://www.mcgonagall-online.org.uk/
For those of you who missed [Murdoch]'s reference. And those of you who just like terrible poetry. [wagster, Dec 19 2007]

Henry Kirke White http://www.sonnets.org/white.htm#020
For those who love terrible poetry (and don't feel bad enough already) [reensure, Dec 19 2007]



Annotation:







       Merry Christmas to the ungrateful, too.

UnaBubba, Dec 18 2007
  

       *claps hands* +

skinflaps, Dec 18 2007
  

       Lest she be forgotten. Thanks H.

phoenix, Dec 18 2007
  

       Bravo

Jinbish, Dec 18 2007
  

       what phoe said.

po, Dec 18 2007
  

       Nicely done, matey.   

       Have a festive season blessed by who or whatever you would be blessed by and with, y'all.

Murdoch, Dec 18 2007
  

       You are, all of you, very welcome. I'm going to get some sleep now. I'll let you know if anything loud happens during the night.

UnaBubba, Dec 18 2007
  

       Sleep well, everyone.

baconbrain, Dec 18 2007
  

       .

Custardguts, Dec 18 2007
  

       Well, no disruption last night. Maybe tonight?

UnaBubba, Dec 18 2007
  

       ::::::<applause>::::::
Brilliant, as usual, [UnaBubba]. [+]
  

       (PS: Woe to thee that boned this... at Christmas, 'n'all)

neutrinos_shadow, Dec 18 2007
  

       Might I respectfully request that if you bone one of my ideas that you at least leave a note, explaining why.   

       It's common courtesy, in my view.

UnaBubba, Dec 18 2007
  

       I boned you because you're just writing poetry and putting people's names in it! Anyone could do that. Poetry sucks.

quantum_flux, Dec 19 2007
  

       I didn't vote ---- 'reensure' rhymes with 'party pooper'. ;P   

       Truly amazing command of prose and style there UB, in all seriousness.

reensure, Dec 19 2007
  

       So she's been canonized - only a matter of time! May she visit all chimneys this yule.

wagster, Dec 19 2007
  

       //Poetry sucks//   

       No, vacuum cleaners suck. Poetry is merely beyond the comprehension of the artless.
You never knew [bristolz], did you?

UnaBubba, Dec 19 2007
  

       "Poetry sucks"!!!!!????? I've killed for less. Well, not really, but I have got jolly angry.   

       Quantum_flux   

       Thinks poetry sucks   

       But Unabubba   

       Gets right to the nubba   

       The issue.

Murdoch, Dec 19 2007
  

       +++++++++++++++++++

webfishrune, Dec 19 2007
  

       Holy Christ on a 21-speed mountain bike with suspension and everything! That's almost McGonangallesque in its artlessness. QF, sometimes poetry DOES suck.

Murdoch, Dec 19 2007
  

       Merry Christmas.

Noexit, Dec 19 2007
  

       one and all.

lostdog, Dec 19 2007
  

       ...and to all a Good Night.

xandram, Dec 19 2007
  

       Whoa! That's some seriously bad poetry. Are the authors Vogon, by any chance?

UnaBubba, Dec 19 2007
  

       There was a young gymnast from China...

MaxwellBuchanan, Dec 19 2007
  


 
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