Oooooooh bagels and bread by golly
Rumors and ramekins, fools folly
This attitude aggregious
But a knick knack fecicious
Hold a tick, did you say napkins?
Not for glass jars and captains
A twist off jammed and stuck in a rut
Threads on a screw doing all the scut
A nail has it easy
All smooth and goes in easy
But time and hammer gave a chance
As long as it was done in baggy pants
So a squid with a quiver
Full of arrows did deliver
Down the narrows did they float
But on a paddle not a boat
So he ate his breakfast fast
And wiped the ink off from a blast
Broke open the container
It's no crazier than saner
Built the shelter speedily
With headphones on greedily
Balanced atop a wooden oar
A raft, no no, just such a bore
Not very analytical
But we won't become political
Since it was a higher ranking tenticle
Who made the inky wooden popsicle
A little poem nonsensical
Where sense is reprehensible
A big-blue-eyed Ralphie Parker, coveting a Red Ryder Air Rifle,
So that he can defend himself against Scut Farkus, that would be a feat.
Beautiful Betty Boop lamp in the window with the fringe skirt, you know
That is probably going to cause car wrecks up and down the street.
The yelling and screaming of the wild next door neighbor children
and their tongue-lolling hound dogs, for no apparent good reason.
Christmas spirit, coming through loud and clear, in spite of the
hilarity of this show that I cannot wait to see each season.
It all adds humor and fun to 1983’s big hit, A Christmas Story.
Randy Parker stuffed into his red snow suit by a disheveled mommy,
and then saying he had to go, leaves me in hilarity glory!
“I’ve shot my eye out!” which should terrorize me as a parent,
keeps me laughing in my recliner in case that is not apparent.
Out of all the Christmas shows, Jean Shepherd’s is my favorite one.
Maybe because when it came out my children were this much fun.
Very cold north country night gale
Below zero on the scale
Freezing tundra of wind, ice 'n snow ev'rywhere
In blue vast cold frigid sky air
Wit' hills covered fluo·res·cent white
Whilst' critters slumber in ground hole tight
Winds howling across the ice
Leaving a white fog below amidst par·a·dise
Snow sheets cover da' land un·end·ing
Icicles hanging an-uh bending
I walk on the ice wit' ice cube nose
I leave footprints behind wit' frawst-bit-n toes
I walk, skulk, scut 'n creep to my home below
Under da' freeeeez'ng tundra of wind, ice 'n snow
Bound by the gloom of a white jolt
Pinned in the great silence of a cold revolt