I wrote a little poem, in honor of Twas The Night Before Christmas, with a twist of beer. But since Google puts you on double secret probation for posting the same content in 2 places, I’ll just link back to where I originally posted it.
………He was merry and plump, a bizarre ballerina
And I laughed when I saw him, just like a hyena.
A Jack Nicholson eye and nod of his head,
Soon gave me to know the best was ahead………
A tough choice
I stumbled upon these ludicrous packages of meat today and could not help but take a picture of it. I thought I might just send it around via text to the more crude folks in my world but then was struck with the idea of turning it into a rhyme. One of my favorite traditions from family get together’s was choosing a verse from a book titled The Dirty Limerick. Packed with crude, lewd and otherwise rude rhymes, it never failed to leave everyone in stitches.
I sort of feel guilty associating dirty limericks with Twas the Night Before Christmas. Not only is this the original children’s poem for the holidays, it was also written in 1822 by the man that Dave Russ takes his middle name from – Clement Clarke Moore. So I hope Monsieur Moore finds no folly in the limerick I’ve tied to his piece de resistance. Truth be told, I’m not sure if this is a limerick, a poem or a haiku but I was laughing while writing it and hope you do to.
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Twas the night before next, when all through the house
Many critters were stirring, including a mouse
The garbage was stuffed by chapped hands with care
In hopes that the diapers soon would be fair
The children were sprawled all crazy in bed
While visions of cheerios danced in their heads
And mamma in her ‘kerchief and I fully nude
Had just settled our thoughts on becoming quite lewd
When out in the kitchen there arose such a clatter
I sprang from the bed to see what the hell was the matter
Away to the freezer I flew like a flash
Tore open the door and heard a loud smash
The sheen on the bag of the new fallen prize
Gave the lustre of gourmet to the objects inside
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a bag of ham balls and a bone for good cheer
With a handwritten note, so flourished and clear
I knew what the fuck I’d discovered right here
More rapid than hamsters I tore at the bag
And whistled and shouted and pranced with a wag
Now Ham Balls! Now Mustard! Now Ketchup and Jelly!
On Crock Pot! On Pot Top! On Drooling and Smelly!
To the roof of my mouth! To the top of the stall!
Now get in my belly! Get in there all!
And then, in a twinkling, I thought with a harrow
There lies the ham bone all alone and with marrow
As I drew down my head and was unsure what to do
The moment of clarity hit home with a schmoo
He was wrapped all in foil, with duct tape for good measure
And his name was written as though with a feather
So laying my finger to the side of my nose
I gave him a nod and to the stovetop he rose
He plopped in the pot, and gave me a whistle
And to him I added split peas and some thistle
But I heard him exclaim, as he dropped under water
“Cook me on low, and enjoy with yer daughter!”
The Bologna Foot 