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
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