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A Little Christmas Carol
TO preface: I'm not a reporter, city official or veterinarian so I have no idea wtf this guy expected me to do...
Gather round, young’ns, it’s time for a Christmas carol. An epic tale of adventure, magic, beer and, er, dogs.
It was bright Christmas morning in Burnaby fair.
Well, ok it was 4am and a wasteland of snow and ice. But anyway.
It was bright Christmas morning in Burnaby fair when young Larry woke, shivering and bare.
Where am I?! He said in a haze of beer which clung to his mind like an amorous steer.
After a moment of groping he realize he was home. But without any pants covering his gnome.
Dressing himself too was a difficult fight, for Larry could barely tell the left leg from the right.
After zipping his fly ( straight up his crack ) good ol’ Larry stumbled out, ready to snack.
Breakfast! He cried as he stumbled to the kitchen. He knew exactly what he wanted and it would be bitchin’
No fruit loops. No corn flakes. No toasted rye. Instead he peered lower with his beady little eye.
A shot of Jack Daniels and a half pint of egg nog! Liquid courage renewed, it was time for his jog.
Come my stallion! He bellowed forth a call and so came the dog, in from the hall.
It was a mangy creature with the brain of a gnat, but it heeded the call and before him it sat.
Merry Christmas, Buttface! Wished Larry. For the dog was hideous and remarkably hairy.
Buttface had one good eye, three legs and six toes and only one nostril to go with its nose.
It chewed at its coat, lost in its nibblings. For truly its parents were probably siblings.
Larry cared not, for his friend was true and besides, Larry’s parents probably were too.
Yet fast approaching was the time for their jog, for a peculiar wet spot grew ‘neath the dog.
Larry seized the hound and threw open the door, tossing it skyward on the rough count of four.
It launched in an arc with an odd yellow trail as its three stumpy legs worked into a flail.
But than something odd happened. Some strange. Some new. The dog completely vanished from Larry’s blurred view.
Buttface?! Asked Larry as he peered around. Something wasn’t right. Something covered the ground.
It was strange and cold and least 2 feet deep and as brightly bleached as a newly born sheep.
WHAT MADNESS IS THIS!? Larry cried as he peered at the ground. It was oddly white and had devoured his hound.
With the strength of one man and 3 or 4 shrew, Larry was ready for all and knew just what to do.
He sprung into action, without dropping his beer, and dove into the bank to pull his friend clear.
With a yelp and a shiver, Buttface was free and the hole he had left tinged lemon with pee.
Larry checked his friends body with tenderly care to make sure all of his parts were still presently there.
Only 3 legs?! Said Larry in horror. For he’d seen Sesame Street and knew dogs typically had four.
One must have broken off! It was still in the hole! But how could he find it? Larry was hardly a mole.
Overcome with rage he threw his fists high. “KHAAAAAN~!” he bellowed and swore to the sky.
Larry didn’t know who this Khan was. But the author cares not since one of his readers likely does.
What was this stuff? Why was it here? Whose fault was it that it had hurt his friend dear?
Ah ha! He thought. He knew the game. The city of Burnaby! That was it! They were to blame!
If only they’d shoveled, salted and plowed! He would see they knew vengeance! This he avowed!
He would call the media, the public would know! Burnaby would suffer from the wrath of the blow!
Larry stumbled inside with a strangled groan and groped around the wall. Seizing the phone.
News desk! He barked at the voice on the end. Dribbling out his case as his dog he did tend.
Poor Buttface was confused. There was no problem to see. For as Buttface knew, he’d always had three.
Larry barked, pleaded, screamed and wailed but the voice on the line wouldn’t concede to his tale.
He threatened promos, posters and signs. He would hire someone with his life savings. A jar full of dimes.
They’re gonna get it! He spat. Look up my name! But against Larry’s ire, the voice remained tame.
He frothed with rage but the voice would not bend. So he slammed down the phone, bringing our tale to an end.
Well, ok. Not quite.
Larry still had a phone and all it entailed. He hadn’t given up. He wasn’t ready to bail.
He phoned the police and repeated his tale they….er….ok to use Larry’s words they told him to go *@&% himself.
Anyway, where was I. Oh yes. Larry dialed up again! For he needed the press.
But they knew who he was and cared not for him. Than an idea struck! He gambled on a whim.
He donned a disguise in an attempt to fool. He called himself Oscar. Because that name did rule.
But disguises don’t work so well on the phone. Since all there is, is your voice and your tone.
Though his second attempt still met with fail. He hadn’t given up. He wasn’t ready to bail.
Let me talk to the anchor! He shrieked at the line. I know her personally! Last night we did dine!
But the voice cared not. His charade didn’t fly. He was running out of ideas. He was about ready to cry.
I do know her! He pleaded. She’s been in my sight! For I drew her on my pillow and rub against it each night.
But the voice cared not. And Larry was sad. For that pillow of her was the only love he ever had.
Larry’s fury returned and he yelled at the phone: THE NEXT TIME THIS HAPPENS ITS NEVER GONNA HAPPEN!
But the voice cared not. Because that really doesn’t make a shred of sense and doesn’t even rhyme.
He frothed with rage but the voice would not bend. Though this time it was the voice that brought our tale to an end.
The End.
( I spent 15 minutes over 2 calls with this lunatic. He deserves this. =p )
Gather round, young’ns, it’s time for a Christmas carol. An epic tale of adventure, magic, beer and, er, dogs.
It was bright Christmas morning in Burnaby fair.
Well, ok it was 4am and a wasteland of snow and ice. But anyway.
It was bright Christmas morning in Burnaby fair when young Larry woke, shivering and bare.
Where am I?! He said in a haze of beer which clung to his mind like an amorous steer.
After a moment of groping he realize he was home. But without any pants covering his gnome.
Dressing himself too was a difficult fight, for Larry could barely tell the left leg from the right.
After zipping his fly ( straight up his crack ) good ol’ Larry stumbled out, ready to snack.
Breakfast! He cried as he stumbled to the kitchen. He knew exactly what he wanted and it would be bitchin’
No fruit loops. No corn flakes. No toasted rye. Instead he peered lower with his beady little eye.
A shot of Jack Daniels and a half pint of egg nog! Liquid courage renewed, it was time for his jog.
Come my stallion! He bellowed forth a call and so came the dog, in from the hall.
It was a mangy creature with the brain of a gnat, but it heeded the call and before him it sat.
Merry Christmas, Buttface! Wished Larry. For the dog was hideous and remarkably hairy.
Buttface had one good eye, three legs and six toes and only one nostril to go with its nose.
It chewed at its coat, lost in its nibblings. For truly its parents were probably siblings.
Larry cared not, for his friend was true and besides, Larry’s parents probably were too.
Yet fast approaching was the time for their jog, for a peculiar wet spot grew ‘neath the dog.
Larry seized the hound and threw open the door, tossing it skyward on the rough count of four.
It launched in an arc with an odd yellow trail as its three stumpy legs worked into a flail.
But than something odd happened. Some strange. Some new. The dog completely vanished from Larry’s blurred view.
Buttface?! Asked Larry as he peered around. Something wasn’t right. Something covered the ground.
It was strange and cold and least 2 feet deep and as brightly bleached as a newly born sheep.
WHAT MADNESS IS THIS!? Larry cried as he peered at the ground. It was oddly white and had devoured his hound.
With the strength of one man and 3 or 4 shrew, Larry was ready for all and knew just what to do.
He sprung into action, without dropping his beer, and dove into the bank to pull his friend clear.
With a yelp and a shiver, Buttface was free and the hole he had left tinged lemon with pee.
Larry checked his friends body with tenderly care to make sure all of his parts were still presently there.
Only 3 legs?! Said Larry in horror. For he’d seen Sesame Street and knew dogs typically had four.
One must have broken off! It was still in the hole! But how could he find it? Larry was hardly a mole.
Overcome with rage he threw his fists high. “KHAAAAAN~!” he bellowed and swore to the sky.
Larry didn’t know who this Khan was. But the author cares not since one of his readers likely does.
What was this stuff? Why was it here? Whose fault was it that it had hurt his friend dear?
Ah ha! He thought. He knew the game. The city of Burnaby! That was it! They were to blame!
If only they’d shoveled, salted and plowed! He would see they knew vengeance! This he avowed!
He would call the media, the public would know! Burnaby would suffer from the wrath of the blow!
Larry stumbled inside with a strangled groan and groped around the wall. Seizing the phone.
News desk! He barked at the voice on the end. Dribbling out his case as his dog he did tend.
Poor Buttface was confused. There was no problem to see. For as Buttface knew, he’d always had three.
Larry barked, pleaded, screamed and wailed but the voice on the line wouldn’t concede to his tale.
He threatened promos, posters and signs. He would hire someone with his life savings. A jar full of dimes.
They’re gonna get it! He spat. Look up my name! But against Larry’s ire, the voice remained tame.
He frothed with rage but the voice would not bend. So he slammed down the phone, bringing our tale to an end.
Well, ok. Not quite.
Larry still had a phone and all it entailed. He hadn’t given up. He wasn’t ready to bail.
He phoned the police and repeated his tale they….er….ok to use Larry’s words they told him to go *@&% himself.
Anyway, where was I. Oh yes. Larry dialed up again! For he needed the press.
But they knew who he was and cared not for him. Than an idea struck! He gambled on a whim.
He donned a disguise in an attempt to fool. He called himself Oscar. Because that name did rule.
But disguises don’t work so well on the phone. Since all there is, is your voice and your tone.
Though his second attempt still met with fail. He hadn’t given up. He wasn’t ready to bail.
Let me talk to the anchor! He shrieked at the line. I know her personally! Last night we did dine!
But the voice cared not. His charade didn’t fly. He was running out of ideas. He was about ready to cry.
I do know her! He pleaded. She’s been in my sight! For I drew her on my pillow and rub against it each night.
But the voice cared not. And Larry was sad. For that pillow of her was the only love he ever had.
Larry’s fury returned and he yelled at the phone: THE NEXT TIME THIS HAPPENS ITS NEVER GONNA HAPPEN!
But the voice cared not. Because that really doesn’t make a shred of sense and doesn’t even rhyme.
He frothed with rage but the voice would not bend. Though this time it was the voice that brought our tale to an end.
The End.
( I spent 15 minutes over 2 calls with this lunatic. He deserves this. =p )
I think my eyes teared up as well.
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