Wednesday, December 10, 2008

A Holiday Poem

For the sake of nostalgia and freeing up time during the holiday crunch, I've decided to recycle this invite to a New Year's Party I co-hosted back in 2006.

I hope it's not too inside to appreciate: My apartment at the time was a lovely salon overlooking Massachusetts Avenue in Cambridge, Mass. The occupants included me, the hearing impaired writer, plus an actuary undergoing rigorous training, a software engineer with a massive head of hair (that was removed immediately prior to the holidays), a pro football junkie cum construction manager, and Bruce, the inflatable moose (cum lingerie rack).


Twas the night before New Year's, and all through flat six,
The men lay sedate due to absence of chicks.

The undies were hung on the moose head with care,
In hopes new donations might find their way there.

The Bala was nestled all snug in his bed,
The 'fro now removed from his brown little head.

Lassonde dreamt of study guides, textbook abyss,
And deferred liability! Actuarial bliss!

Machado played Madden, two thousand and fifty.
The players weren't born yet... but the graphics were nifty.

The pillow pressed hard against Jim's working ear.
It's easy to sleep when it's so hard to hear.

A knock at their door proved a loud intervention,
And except for the deaf one, it got their attention.

Unexpected is this! What have we in store?
They woke up the Jimba and ran to the door.

Lassonde took a look through the small peeping lens,
"Well, what do you know? It's our freeloading friends!"

"Let us in your crapartment!" they fiercely commanded.
"We're drinking your booze. Don't you dare leave us stranded!

In case you've been wondering, your party starts now.
No need to worry. We'll help you. Here's how:

We'll blow this thing up like a Taepodong nuke.
We'll play drinking games like Beirut till we puke.

We'll pee in your sink, we'll barf on your floor.
We'll dance to shit music, and drink even more.

"In the end you will thank us!" they assured the four guys.
They all kept on chugging, till the clock caught their eyes.

Twelve fast approaches! Chicks, find your dudes!
It's a Boink Fest at midnight! (...making out is for prudes).

The party pressed on till the wee waking hours.
It was time to take Advil, and a cold effing shower.

Their friends made a vow (the ones still alive),
"Start counting down now, from three-sixty five.

We'll be back soon. Make sure you're prepared,
Clean up and restock, no beer will be spared.

We will do our part, bringing holiday cheer,
Till then, have an uber funtastic new year!

~ Come along and celebrate another uber funtastic year with Andy, Bala, Chris and Jim. We promise just the right mix of shenanigans and tomfoolery.~


Senor said...

And our apartment still writes poems to this day for our New Year's party to commemorate the Jimb:

Twas the night before New Year's and all through mi casa
Everything was stirring 'specially kielbasa
The punch had been spiked - no alcohol was spared
By the time it was done, the cupboards were bare
The boys all dressed nice - wanting someone to bed
While visions of punani danced in their heads
The girls were hooched out, with makeup to boot
But their defense held up, the boys got no loot

When out in the hall, there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the kitchen to see what's the matter
Through drunkards I swam, but my pace was so slow
And all I could hear, was that "No still means no"
When I got to the end, I looked to my left
And there stood a man, of incredible heft
I thought to myself, "Who on Earh do I see?"
But ghetto St Nick - for the bootie to be"

For a fat fucking bastard he really was quick,
A bass was soon bumpin and the speakers were sick
The tunes he was blastin soon brought the house down
His cries then brought people, from all over town
"Now 2Pac, now 50, now Justin and Biggie
And Rhianna, and Snoop and Michael and Brittany!
Turn it up turn it up, and tap the keg too!
When you're all really drunk, you'll know what to do"

With his very last word the stout man had gone,
But I took a quick glance, and saw it was on
The beer had been flowin, the punch had been too,
Where things were going, i think everyone knew
In the distance I heard before he left sight
"Happy New Year's bitches, and to all a good night"

cls79 said...

Someone please tell Bala that Ms. Spears spells her name "Britney". Blasphemy, I tell you...

J. Rosemary Moss said...

~Twelve fast approaches! Chicks, find your dudes!
It's a Boink Fest at midnight! (...making out is for prudes).~

Hrrrmph. That's rather hetero-normative of you, isn't it?