We’ve always been partial to Scrooge and...

We’ve always been partial to Scrooge and the Grinch

Ebenezer before converting

Now there was a mensch

And so we endure, and lose almost all reason


While do-gooders shop, wrap and bake

And say (ad nauseam), “ ‘Tis the season!”

Perhaps it was our youth that set us against Yule

There was gouty Uncle Chet, we remember his drool


And sleepy Aunt Shirley

And cousins Wick, Tom and Mary

Who gathered at our home, things got quite hairy

And mother and father, of course, what a twosome


They made us eat vegetables, and kiss Grandma--gruesome!

Poor’s what we was, as poor as church mice

Yes, compared to us, church mice had it quite nice

No hearth to warm beast, woman and man


Of course that’s not counting good Chet’s Sterno can

Which he would light with such flair

A certain je ne sais quoi

And get out the Old Granddad


And toast kings, queens and moi

For we were his favorite, the holder of trust

He would whisper (quite salaciously)

That he held some lust


For Ann-Margret, Grace Kelly and don’t forget Marilyn

Who topped his list, he wanted his hands on them!

Then toothy Aunt Shirl’ would drift by and hiss:

“You’ve had enough, Chet,


and, by the way, I, too, can wish

For real hunks like Cary, Clark and Tyrone

And I’ll take Tony Curtis, any day, on loan.”

Then the two would start shouting


Until it was time to take seat

And eat a morsel or two

(Our cry would go up:)

Give us meat, meat, meat!


Was it turkey, roast game or ham, perhaps?

Or big platters of pork, or potatoes mashed?

Maybe a duck, or two, or pig with open mouth?

Or a fish caught somewhere, say, somewhere down South?


But upon seeing that . . . thing, a groan would go up

It’d start deep inside us, on that we will sup?

For what I beheld made me utter “darn"--even “damn,”

In the middle of our table sat a great big Spam


It started on one end and went clear to the other

But thank God for young siblings

Mine went to my brother

Who would eat it with rapture


Just like all the rest gathered here

And we remember thinking,

Now isn’t this queer?

To be surrounded by happiness


Smiles on each lad and lass

These nimrods, we’d say, don’t know elbow from . . .

And the feeling would grow

Call it love if you will


But all we could focus on was getting our fill

Of a sumptuous meal, wealth and maybe a limo

Yes! and a secretary, too, to take down this memo

“Dear Santa, (it would read),


Now that we’re rich

You can take those reindeer and sleigh

And find a big ditch

And stuff them deep down, they did us no good


There was a hubcap one year

And the next year some wood

Just a board with a nail at the end, that’s true

Of course, the following year the nail was a screw


And that’s why we hate you, and hate you we must

Goodby, forever

Signed . . . Us.”

But if it’s Christmas you must celebrate


If that be your favor

Attend UCLA’s “Winter Solstice”

A cornucopia of sound, please savor

Philip Aaberg, Barbara Higbie and Nightnoise



Being held this Friday

8 p.m., Hall of Royce