The Blog Before Christmas
’Twas the blog before Christmas, I wrote in my office.
Then sat back and wondered, “Crap. What rhymes with office?”
The pressure was on—there were word counts to hit.
And I couldn’t be late. No not one little bit.
So I paced and I pondered. I flipped many coins.
I needed subscribers. I girded my loins.
I dialed up the sarcasm, made clever jokes.
Well I think they’re clever. And so do my folks.
I’ll offer an-ec-dotes. Tell mis-takes I’ve made.
I’ll dig up old skeletons. I’ve got a spade.
I’ll make fun of things I know little about.
And hope by the end, it’ll work itself out.
I’ll often digress and then go off on tangents…
Oh crap that’s like “office.” There’s nothing for “tangents.”
But I change subjects quickly, so there is no worry.
And I’m early on this one, so I need’nt hurry.
And halfway along, I’ve not yet touched the theme.
So I’ll need me a segue, or even a meme.
It’s a holiday blog, a right Christmassy one,
So I’ll also need tinsel, and eggnog—that’s fun.
I never liked eggnog, to tell you the truth.
It’s just an example of liquor abuse.
Champagne is better—dude, trust me on this.
It’s also more festive, with bubbles and fizz.
The lights in the neighborhood, wow, how they twinkle.
Ooops, it’s a fire. Now there’s a new wrinkle.
A Christmas apocalypse’s now in the works.
Like a book that I’d write. With a villain that smirks.
He’d out-grinch the Grinch. He’s one bad S. O. B.
But the hero will get him. Don’t worry. You’ll see.
But first there’ll be mayhem and darkness aplenty.
Crap. Crap. That’s a third time. Aplenty? Aplenty?
There’ll also be sidekicks and high schools and pets.
And romance? Well, maybe. I’m not taking bets.
Yeah that one was forced, but only a little.
This one is worse—I’m eating a Skittle.
When I promise bad, I always deliver.
I’ve digressed again. And I’m all aquiver.
I’m so close to finishing this stupid blog.
Then sending it off. Then walking my dogs.
But I will say this, before I write, “The End.”
I wish you the happiest holidays, friend.
Apologies to Clement Clarke Moore and to anyone who actually expected this to be about holidays or writing or anything more than a poetic ramble.
See you next year.