h a l f b a k e r y
A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside a rich, flaky crust
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'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the site
Not a baker was posting, no annos all night;
The pantryhose was hung by the solar chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Bernard soon would be there;
The bakers were nestled all snug in their chastity beds,
While visions of edible
CDs danced in their own-weighed heads;
And mamma in her brow bills, and I in my wrapping hat,
Had just settled down for a Tourettes Syndrome chat,
When out on the gel-styled lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the hourglass bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the topsy turvy window I flew like a Kentucky Fried Turkey,
Tore open the shutters and threw up tear-away beef jerky.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen exploding pigeon
Gave the lustre of experiencing church of sock religion,
When, what should my enhanced parallax eyeglasses divine,
But a horseless chariot, and eight creatures feline,
With a big furry driver, who steered oer the yard,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Bernard.
Much faster than light his cats they came,
And he whistled like a showerhead, and called them by name;
"Now, Penny! now, Polly! now, Demsey and Dustin!
On, Nietzsche! on Zulu! on, Chunky and Winston!
To the top of the porch zapper! to the top of the jigsaw wall!
Now slash away! lash away! gash away all!"
As dry leaves that before Zen garden machines fly,
When they meet with an hullaballoon, mount to the sky,
So up to the sod roof the tabbies they flew,
With the chariot full of gizmos, and St. Bernard too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard just like that
The purring and pawing of each after dinner cat.
As I drew in my double thumb-gloved hand, and was turning around,
Down the in-home fire pole St. Bernard came with a bound.
He was covered all in fur, from his head to his painting dancing foot,
And his pre-stained kids clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of contraptions he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pet with a cat ejection pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! through solar glasses how merry!
His cheeks were like custard-filled speed bumps, his nose like a chocolate-coated cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a fishbone rib,
And the beard of his chin was as white as its bib;
The stump of a hover board half pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a retractable knife sheath;
He had a broad face and a Christmas codpiece,
That shook, when he laughed like a vibrating tampon at increase.
He was chubby and plump, like a filled PC pie shelf,
And I lol when I saw him, in spite of my elf;
A wink of his lottery eyeball and a twist of his footied head,
Soon calmed me, as if hed blue-toothed me instead;
He woofed not a new curse word, but went straight to his woik,
And filled all the homing socks; then turned with a joik,
And laying his gadget finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the double helix escalator he rose;
He sprang to his chariot, to his Felidae whistled a tune,
And away they all flew like a hot air balloon harpoon.
But I heard him barking, his tail-for-all shaking,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all good baking."
Dodge and Winston
[FarmerJohn, Oct 04 2004]
my baaaaaad [XSarenkaX, Oct 04 2004]
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||thinking up something clever and witty to say, but finding myself at a loss. Think I'll just sit here and admire with my jaw in my lap awhile by the yule log's fire, if that's okay.
||Exquisite, impeccable, and delightful.
||A half-baked apple croissant for you....
||While the 'bakery is not a poetry site, poetry and musical spoofs have been a sidelight here for as long as I've been around, and longer. Also, they are decidedly harder to write than usual ideas, as many involve both ideas in and of themselves, but also have to fit the meter, rhyme, verse, style, etc. all while meaning something to the halfbakery public.
||If jutta wanted to seriously put a stop to it all tomorrow, she could. We all know that, and so we try not to abuse her tolerance with a flood. It's also largely a seasonal thing.
||I demolished this venerable Christmas tale to spread some seasons cheer and celebrate the delightful and creative ideas and minds behind them here. This is certainly no idea, and I accept any moderators death sentence on it. I find halfbaking in all its forms fun, but dislike humbug quibbling.
||Yes, [arthur], get with the spirit.
||On the surface this is no good as an idea, and falls outside the remit of the halfbakery. However the site is more than just a discussion forum for ideas - it is a place where intellectual gymnastics are recognised and celebrated. Whether this is how Jutta intended it is a moot point I think, she allows it to continue and I wouldn't dare to speak for her.
||The halfbakery is not like the rest of the internet where you can just turn up and say anything you like. Respect is expected, and must be earnt. Newcomers don't always recognise this, and that's when the steamrollering process starts. Once a baker has proven him or herself by earning the respect of fellows, they are allowed to "get away" with more, though not always.
||[FarmerJohn] is a much loved and respected baker, and this poem is a clever celebration of many of the better ideas that have appeared recently. For these reasons he gets my vote.
||Despite the fact that none of my lame-o ideas made it into this work of art, I'm still awarding pastry.
||He mentions socks. It's how you earnt your credentials, if I remember rightly.
||I'm still waiting for that visit you promised.
||I'll send you a sock-bomb in the mail, instead. What's your address?
||I thought he was a sheep.
||po: You mean Dodge is Winston, and Winston is Dodge? (linky)
||who was with Dag? I am confused.
||Hurrah! Is there anything this man can't do?
||Oopsie - I was thinking of Whittaker. (linky)