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Saturday Night Live

'Twas The Weekend Before Christmas

 

Adventures in going out, staying in, and acting up

’Twas the weekend
before Christmas, when
all through the town,
not much was going on;
there was snow on the ground.

Friends got together to
honor the storm;
you know the deal —
order food, get wasted,
and try to stay warm.

I arrived at the apartment,
bottle of Champagne in hand
(it was open: I’d started
celebrating earlier;
hope they understand).

My friend was in her PJs;
a few others in same,
so we decided to get high
and play a board game.

When out of the kitchen
arose such a clatter,
they were making cookies
— and in my condition, I’d trade
a finger for a spoonful of batter.

So away to the oven I flew in a flash,
stopping briefly to eat a few
Doritos from the trash.

The kitchen was full of liquor and treats,
a big bowl of mac-and-cheese,
a salad with beets.

When, what to my half-closed
eyes should appear,
but a bottle of tequila and
a 12-pack of beer!

Shot glasses were lined up,
so lively and quick;
in a moment I knew,
someone would likely get sick.

More crazy than Britney
the party became;
we started whistling, shouting,
and dancing so lame.

Now vodka, now brownies,
now wine and some cheddar!
On pilsner, on winter brew,
the party kept getting better!

So to the nearby park we decided to go,
to build a pimp snowman
and perhaps a snow ho!

A bottle of Veuve I had
firmly in my clutches;
the smart money was on one of
us ending up on crutches.

We spoke not a word, but
went straight to our work,
of rolling up snowballs and
acting like jerks.

And laying a finger aside of my nose
I discovered a booger icicle,
inches long I suppose.

Unfortunately for us, the
snow was fluffy and dry;
we couldn’t build a snow hooker
no matter how hard we tried.

So we cranked out a few snow angels
and then made our way back;
it was getting late and I had
snow in my crack.

Now, I realize this crappy holiday
poem is coming too late;
my deadlines are early,
please try not to hate.

I didn’t want to forget you, I
knew that wouldn’t be right.
So Merry Christmas, happy
New Year, and thanks for
reading Saturday Night.

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Best Body Boston 2009

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