Not the Night Before Christmas Anymore

25 12 2009

OR: BUSTA X-MAS RHYME, YO!

Nerditor’s note: This is an unauthorized, potentially troublesome parody of “The Night Before Christmas” that you can read and love in its original format. What you’re about to read is a twisted, nasty, naughty, weird version of the traditional feel-good holiday poem with a little modern techie spin. I originally posted it on Twitter in 140-character-ish spurts. Some parts were omitted for brevity and to prevent mass-unfollowing from taking place, and so that I could finish by midnight ET for all my peeps on the Atlantic side of things. This is the uncut, unaltered, un-neutered, uncircumcised, mano a mano version of the parody. Enjoy.

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Every keyboard was stirring, each mouse in the house;

We updated our facebook stati with care
In the hopes that likes and comments soon would be there.

The children wore snuggies pulled over their heads
But the copyright folks said to call it a ‘sleeved blanket’ instead.

Pa in his wayfarers and ma in her Uggs
Could not get to sleep without aid from drugs;

When all of a sudden, snow fell and the cold grew bitter;
I decided to post photos and update my Twitter!

But first, Windows told me to update my Flash,
Had to restart my system and empty my trash;

Lawnchairs, grills, flamingoes covered in snow
Gave warning that Jack Frost wanted to nibble my toe;

When what to my wandering eyes did appear
But a schmaltzy TV pitchman and eight robotic reindeer;

He wore a funny hat, his personality lively and quick
I asked him his name, he said it was Nick!

More rapid than eagles, Nick’s sales pitches came
And he whistled, and shouted, the robotic reindeer names!

“Now, Crasher! now, Necromancer! now, Hacker and Stricken!”
“On, Grommit! on Blooper! on, Blunder and Chicken!”

So up to the house-top the robots they flew,
With geeky griffin-like wings of metal, and Nick, too.

Then, in a ring-a-ling-a-ling, I knew a text had come.
Felt jolly buzzing in my pocket, so I typed with my thumb.

I’d asked, “Yo Santa, wat r u gonad bridge me?”
“Hot hoo hoo,” went another typo-ridden T-X-T.

CUT: [[[ Let’s skip lengthy description of Nick’s jelly belly —
The rosy cheeks, smoky wreaths, reindeer breath so smelly … ]]]

He stayed pretty chill though ash covered his suit and loot;
This North Pole pro’s hair was perfectly coiffed to boot!

A plethora of thingies he had stuffed in his sack,
And he looked like — was — a peddler opening his pack.

His CrackBerry — how it twinkled! his iPod how merry!
The LED’s were like blinking roses, iPhone case like a cherry!

His troll-like mouth was drawn up like a bow,
His ears pointy and Spock-ish and all logical, you know.

He wouldn’t stop smoking despite pleas to the contrary,
And just kept puffing away so much that it was scary.

He had a cute little face and a clear-cut beer belly,
Like a pregnant man with a dude-womb full of jelly.

He was stocky and big-boned, which is code for “chubby,”
But I wouldn’t say he was quite on par with a Teletubbie.

With twist of the radio dial and a pounce on his touchpad,
He chuckled a bit at the gumption of those yo-yos at NORAD.

[[[END CUT]]]

The Northern sales-lad worked quietly to not be a jerk,
Giving free samples of things we don’t need — such a perk!

I shuddered when he put his finger in proximity to his nose
Fearing he might be in H1N1’s throes.

As he veered for the chimney, I missed him like whoa,
But I knew he had peeps to see, places to go.

With the sound system cranked up, the sleigh flew out of sight,
“Merry Christmas to all,” he said, “Cuz this Saint Nick’s jammin’ tonight!”





Andy Warhol was a bit generous

29 03 2009

Rain, rain, rain, there you go again, messin’ up my plans
Ruinin’ my day of fun best as you can
I think it’s fair to say that I’m not your biggest fan
But I always make do in these gray hours, best as I can.

ONE of my favorite new rainy-day activities is 12seconds.tv, a new site that we are using. You get 12 seconds, not 15 minutes, of fame. That is, if the community likes what you do. For me, I feel like if I’m going to ask other people to submit videos, I sure as heck had better be submitting videos, too. So submit I do, and I’ve had a modicum of success. It’s good to know what it feels like to submit your work and be part of an active community. Hopefully this experience will help me do better at my job. Also, hey, the site is lots of fun to use and I really enjoy trying to stretch myself and see if I can respond to the silly and thought-provoking challenges. Good times!

Here are some notable pieces I’ve done so far:

So check it out. Also, Muse rules. Oh how I love your sweet sounds.





Christmas in the desert

22 12 2008
Poetry found here

Poetry found here

I’m going to talk about Christmas in the desert here:

No snow, just dirt
Tumbleweed Santa Clauses
and encircling the Saguaro with a skirt
Hanging lights off the agave

Happy Holidays!

Happy Holidays!

Luminaries on the walk just for me
Enjoy your prickly pear jam
While it’s 70 degrees
No snow in wintertime,
Just a little less heat and a whole lotta sunshine

Why wish for a white Christmas
When the sun blinds your eyes
As you walk around in shirtsleeves
Admiring the glare of the rays on the desert floor

Laughing at Auntie Edna in St. Paul
Still trying to get Uncle Bob to shovel some more.
This is the good life, you know;
Desert Christmas is the way to go

The palm trees covered in icicle lights are a bit much,
But at least you can ride your bicycle in broad daylight;
One you go desert you’ll never go back again,
Forget the romantic ideal of a white-blanketed wonderland.





I scream Sunday

17 09 2007

One of the joys of Sunday for me is working the early-morning shift, which inevitably is slow-going. Well not today. There was actual stuff going on, which was nice, I guess. I felt useful.

Anyway, on the way to work, I was  riding the TRAIN. (Come on ride the train, and ride it! Come on ride the train….) As per usual. But it was going really slow. Like 5 mph or something, it seemed. It took me an hour to get to Five Points (city center), which was absolutely Rick-diculous considering we weren’t even single-tracking. Man, oh man. It should only take 25-27 minutes on average. (Yes, I have it down to a science.)

And… I went to the mall in the evening and sat out on the patio to enjoy the nice weather, and then I went in and looked at clothing with alien motifs. Like, glittering colorful neon/gold-studded aliens that would make 50 Cent pause and sign up to go to a Star Trek convention. Yes, folks, aliens are *in* this fall fashion season.

In light of this, I thought I would write another bizarre poem:

Roswell’s just a few miles away
Roswell, Georgia, not New Mexico
So I don my alien apparel
And try not to go over a barrell
With extraterrestrial lexicon.

You probably saw me at the Dragon*Con,
Keeping one eye on the guy dressed for robotic cosplay
With a Macintosh cardboard-box codpiece on,
He put his geekish manhood on an LCD kind of display
But I was too busy listening to my old-school iPod Nano to stay.

Alas, it were that I had to board the train to nowhere in particular;
And I felt faster pumping through my heart’s ventricles
I was offered a free hug by a man covered in fake blood
And it was then that I understood
That my trips on the train were getting pretty spectacular.

Indeed, many a frustrating trip can inspire colorful vernacular
For while stuck in the train, we encounter an interesting population;
It’s a tough adjustment for those who prefer their interactions to be insular;
For you come into contact with every segment of societal persuasion.
You’ve got to factor the uniqueness of the experience into the overall equation.





Poetry for tortured souls — edicion primero

10 09 2007

I’m feeling emotional. My heart is like a, a beating piston something. It’s like, beating, you know. Thump de thump. Over and over again. Besides indicating that I am in fact alive, this beating of my heart indicates somehow that I feel like writing poetry. I’m even wearing a corduroy cap right now. (You can’t prove a negative, so there.) Here goes nothing:

ISLAND CAFE

O Island Cafe, how I revel in your fake palm fronds
Bleach-haired himbos and babelicious blondes.
The best seat in the house is by the animatronic parrots —
See my cheesy Hawaiian shirt? I dare you to wear it.
I’d rather string some flowers around my neck, wanna trade?
‘Cause this might be my one and only chance to get leid.
O Island Cafe, how wonderful you are
Especially when I get a$10 daiquiri from the bar
Bring me some chips ‘n salsa, say you will
‘Cause I’ve wasted away all the salt in Margaritaville
When I go to the bathroom in a heady whirl,
I spring for the door decorated with a hula girl
‘Cause if I go for surfer dude,
I’ll be in the men’s room and that’s rude.
O Island Cafe, how I dig your seasoned fries
But to say this crap tastes good is a pile of lies
The only reason I’m here is for the crappy greenery
And all of that (if you catch my drift) island scenery.