A Blue Christmas?
Are these blue lights draped around a motorcycle engine the sign of a holiday police dragnet? A sudden K-Mart blue light holiday special buy? The remains of a collision of a motorcycle and a Christmas tree (including the candy cane)? Picasso in a new blue period just in time for the holidays? A physical manifestation of the ghost of Elvis opining that he will have a Blue Christmas without you? Whatever it is, it is a little larger than your average stocking stuffer.
Filed under Photo by author, Photo Finish Friday
She was pumped to see the candy.
She was pumped to see the candy. And she was pumped to see the pumps. She had been looking all over town for this type of candy: handmade, locally produced, just the thing to impress him with. After all, he had always given her handmade gifts. Then she saw the shoes, the pumps made from chocolate and candy. She’d always heard that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, and she had a secret fetish of wanting a man to at least once in her life nibble and suck her toes. This was just the item. It combined both things, and he wouldn’t even have to know about her fetish until the moment he nibbled his way up to her ruby red painted toes.
Oh, could this be real? Could this actually be happening?
She wanted to click her heels like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz and say, “This place is better than home. This place is better than home.”
Then the witch behind the counter yelled over at her: “I ain’t here for my health. You gonna buy or you gonna slobber?”
She thought about it for a moment and wondered what she would do if he wouldn’t nibble away her chocolate shoe? What if he didn’t even like chocolate? What would she do then?
“Well?” the witch was not pleased to be kept waiting.
“I’ll take them all,” she said, “And could you gift wrap them?”
The look on the witch’s face was beyond sour. “You know, you can’t really wear these. And you can’t bring ’em back.”
“For what I have in mind, that won’t be an issue.”
The witch shrugged and packed up all five shoes.
She young woman walked home in the cold and blowing snow. Her man would be arriving soon, so she hurried. When she got home, she left a note where here man would find it, then went straight to bed and waited … and waited … and waited….
When morning came, she awoke with a jolt. It took a moment or two before she realized what had happened. All the chocolate shoes were gone, except one, which was partially eaten, the toe area missing. She found a wrapped present in the bed beside her and a note which read:
“My dear Virginia, how you have grown. I almost didn’t recognize you. I hope you like the present. I made it especially for you. Thank you for the chocolate snacks. I tried each one on your pretty little feet and nibbled my way up to your toes. Maybe next year, we can try these. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. –S.”
Virginia ripped open the present. She stared at the gift for a few minutes before she realized what it was. She turned as red as S’s suit to think he thought of her this way.
It was almost amazing what could happen when you still believed in the jolly ol’ elf.
Filed under Photo by author, Photo Finish Friday
The Bow Man
By David E. Booker
You say you don’t like them,
Then you begin to shout.
You’d better be very careful
Or the Bow Man will clean you out.
He comes on Christmas Day
After you’ve unwrapped all your toys
To take all the ones back
With which you seem annoyed.
Complain about a doll:
“It’s not the color I like.”
He’ll take away all your toys:
Games, dolls, scooters, and bikes.
Beware what you dislike
For that’s just what he enjoys
He’ll snatch away your gifts
Even from good girls and boys.
Don’t like the new dress?
He’ll snatch it off your body.
He’ll take your jacket and your scarf
While sipping your hot toddy.
He’s worse than the Grinch,
Who took your stuff at night.
The Bow Man will do it today,
In the broadest of daylight.
He once snatched a mouse
Right out of an old cat’s paws.
The cat complained the mouse
Was not from Santa Claus.
The Bow Man’s big and fat,
And wears green ugly clothes.
If he ever comes to see you,
His smell will turn up your nose.
He’s dressed in ribbons and bows
But don’t let the festive look fool you.
If you complain about your toys,
He’ll keep Christmas from being cruel to you.
A grainy photo of the infamous Bow Man. Note the Smiley Face made from bows as a way to lull you into a false sense of security.
Christmas Time
By David E. Booker
Christmas comes but once a year
As songs and calendar make clear;
And then the bills come blowing in,
Heralding a new year, amen.
So out into the cold I go,
Fighting wind and debt and snow
Bringing Christmas joy and cheer
’Til my bank account is clear.
Then the credit cards come out
And out and out and then about
The time I think I’ve spent enough
There is a present that I’ve muffed.
So back into the store I go
For my tale of substitute woe
Where the clerk tries to smile
And I feel I’m in Kafka’s Trial.
The guardians of tradition wait to ensure your every move is the right one.
O’ Christmas becomes a time surreal
When some dance and some kneel
And oftentimes my intentions digress
And I come out feeling less and less.
As the stories of Christmas past
Tell tales of deeds that truly last.
Try as I might, I come to the day
Watching the show now on display
And feel as the tree tops glisten
And children listen, that I am missing
A moment of my own to clasp,
Something sweet and ethereal to last.
For it’s those moments ill-defined,
When a smile is given un-timed,
When the heart is opened to the moment,
That the soul finds console-ment
That this season means more than here
And those people you wish to hold dear
Find their place and their own rhyme
In your heart, beating in a new time.
[Editor’s note: This poem was first published in a small publication in 2007.]
Filed under Christmas, Photo by author, poetry by author, Silly Saturday
House in my neighborhood, Old North Knoxville, decorated and lighted for Christmas
Lighted archway and walkway in Old North Knoxville. Decorated for the holidays.
These are a couple of photos in my neighborhood decorated for the Christmas Season.
Filed under Freeform Friday, Photo by author
Mary Christmas, wherever you are.
Let us Harold in a New Year.
Commentary: in case you are wondering, this is an actual sign in the small city where I live. I could not win a spelling bee if thrown into one, but I do know that Merry can be Mary, and Mary Christmas could be the name of somebody, but usually it Merry before Christmas, and maybe after Christmas, too. I also know we all have our crosses to bare, and some of them can be more of a bear than others, but sometimes we bare our crosses in ways that might make Mary merry, especially with Harold around. Here’s hoping we can all find a dictionary in 2012 when we need one.
Santa or the Grinch this Christmas Eve?
Santa or the Grinch this Christmas Eve?
Have you been good
or is that hard to conceive?
Will you get presents or a lump of coal?
If Santa sees you,
will he shake like jelly in a bowl?
Santa or the Grinch this Christmas Eve?
Have you been naughty
or is that hard to believe?
Will you get presents or a lump of coal?
If the Grinch sees you
will he howl loud and bold?
Santa or the Grinch this Christmas Eve?
In which one
will you believe?
Someone will slide down you chimney tonight
Will he leave presents
or take them outright?
There now is a man named Santa
who lives somewhere north of Atlanta.
He’s in a tub today;
soon will be coming your way —
so don’t take being good for grant-ah.
For Christmas, the blathering idiot received a BBQ mitt and a cooking apron. Across the front of the apron, above three embroidered stars was the phrase, also embroidered and in all capital letters: ALL AMERICAN CHEF.
The blathering idiot was happy to receive such a gift. He prided himself on his outdoor grilling skills, and after all an All American Chef should have all-American tools to help him create his all-American dishes. He tried on the mitt: it fit great with plenty of room. The apron was adjustable and the red color pleasantly suited him.
Though the weather was a winter cool, he decided to grill out. What better way to show off that he was an ALL AMERICAN CHEF? He pulled out his grill, poured in the charcoal briquettes, and was ready to start the fire.
All American mitt and apron made in China
The blathering idiot didn’t feel so ALL AMERICAN any more.
Filed under All American, blathering idiot, Christmas, Holidays, humor, Random Access Thoughts, words, writing
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