Ok so this is year five or six in my tradition of butchering the traditional Christmas classic. But since we now have the technology of the blog at our disposal, I have a great idea! Since my skill set at iambic pentameter leaves much more than a little to be desired, let’s get YOU involved! I’ll start the poem, and you guys come up with the best endings. Whoever comes up with the best ending will win either:
A) $100,000 cash;
B) My Viper SRT;
C) A night of hot steamy sex with me; or,
D) Honorable mention in the next blog post.
The prize is determined by me, and all decisions are final. If you’re looking for B, better send pix!
Actually I’ll probably combine the best verses you submit and create the final work of art! (You don't have to write the whole thing. If you just want to submit a verse or two that's fine.) So let’s see how talented y’all are.
To give you an idea of the diabolical poetic process, and what the final outcome usually looks like, you can study last year’s version here:
Now, let’s get to it:
The Night Before Christmas, 2008
(With profound apologies to Clement Clarke Moore and his estate)
‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the U.S.;
The economy was tanking, and things were a mess.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care;
Hoping for coal, because the fuel tanks were bare.
The big three automakers were begging for scraps;
And the airline executives were searching for gaps.
Both Democrats and Republicans together did link;
In a partnership to budget for lots more red ink.
The fundamentalists kept working to make everyone straight;
Scaring up enough money to win proposition 8.
Elsewhere the court system said, “justice we’ll heal ya;
“OJ you can kill, just don’t steal memorabilia.”
In the rest of the world, the song was the same;
With governments clamoring to play the Socialism game.
Guarantees, bailouts and the takeovers we feared;
Must have had Castro laughing in his beard.
When out on the lawn, arose such a…
And now dear reader, it’s your turn: