BACK AGAIN

Somehow this is working again.  I had better get myself writing again.  Not that anyone cares.  But you never know.  And I like to write.

I offer for the holiday,

a piece written in part by Charles “Chuck” Spellcheck, recently discovered

and authenticad.

'Twas the niece before Christmas and all three the Houston, not a creative was stirred, not even a mousetrap.

The stocks were hung by the chimney with cable in hopes that saint nickel would soon be there.

The children were nesting smug in their bedroom while visitors of sugary plugs danced in their hands.

And mama in her kerosene and I in

My capo had juiced our brains for a lung winter nap.

When out online the lawsuit there arose such a clattering, I spree from the bedroom to see what the Matterhorn.

Wait to the window I flew like a flash, Tour up the window and threw up on the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new Fallon show,

Gave luster of mid-day to objects below.

 What to my wonderful eyes should appeal but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reinforcements.

With a little old driver so likely and quick,

I knew in a movie it much be stuck Nick.

More rabid  than eagled his courage they came,

And he whistling and shouting , and call’d them by name:

 "Now! Dasher, now! Dinner, now! Prancing , and Victor ,

"On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Dundee and blitzkrieg ;

”To the top of the porcelain ! to the top of the wall!

”Now dash away! dastardly away! dashboard away all!”

As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;

So up to the house-top the courthouse they flew,

With the sleigh full of Toilet - and St. Nicholas too:

And then in a twinge , I heard on the roof

The practice and pawning of each little hoof.

As I drip in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimp St. Nicholas came with a bound:

He was dress’d all in furniture, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all targeted with ashes and soot;

A bundle of toys was fluid on his back,

And he look’d like a pedicure just opening his pack:

His eyes - how they twinkle ! his dimple how merry,

His cheeks were like Rosetta , his nose like a cheese

His droll little mouth was dramatic, up like a bowl

And the beard of his chin was as withdrawal as the snowball

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his grip

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreck.

He had a broadcast face, and a little round belly

That shook when he laugh’d, like a bowl full of jellyfish

He was chubby and plumber, a right jolly old elderly

And I laugh’d when I saw him in spite of my noise

A wink of his eye and a twist of his help

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dredge.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his wok

And fill’d all the stockings; then turn’d with a jersey

And laying his finger aside of his nosebleed

And gigging a nod, up the chimney he rose.

He sprung to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistleblower

And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle:

But I heard him exercise 'ere he drove out of sight-

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a google nightclub.

 My best to you!

 Bob

 Heard all over the world. Just won’t shut up!

www.bobwoodvoiceovers.com

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