welcome! jeremy freese is a professor in sociology at northwestern university. he finds blogging to be a good diversion from insomnia and a far better use of time than television.
So, Francine, you sure pissed off a lot of people on the Sconnie Soc blog! What was up with that?
Huh? What? Who? Huh?
In the spirit of Christmas Eve, I offer the following verses, courtesy of Weird Al:Down in the workshop all the elves were making toysFor the good Gentile girls and the good Gentile boys,When the boss busted in, nearly scared 'em half to death,Had a rifle in his hand and cheap whisky on his breath.From his beard to his boots, he was covered with ammo,Like a big, fat, drunk, disgruntled Yuletide Rambo.And he smiled as he said, with a twinkle in his eye,"Merry Christmas to all! Now you're all gonna die!"The night Santa went crazy,The night Saint Nick went insane,Realized he'd been getting a raw deal,Something finally must have snapped in his brain.Well, the workshop is gone now.He decided to bomb it.Everywhere you'll find pieces of Cupid and Comet.And he tied up his helpers, and he held the elves hostage,And he ground up poor Rudolph into reindeer sausage.He got Dasher and Dancer with an old German Luger,And he slashed up Prancer just like Freddy Krueger.And he picked up a flamethrower and he barbecued Blitzen,And he took a big bite and said, "It tastes just like chicken!"The night Santa went crazy,The night Kris Kringle went nuts,Now you can't hardly walk around the North Pole,Without stepping in reindeer guts.There's the National Guard and the FBI.There's the van from the eyewitness news,And helicopters circlin' 'round in the sky.And the bullets are flyin', the body count's risin', and everyone's dyin' to know,"Oh, Santa, why?"My, my, my, my, my, my.You used to be such a jolly guy...Yes, Virginia, now Santa's doing time,In a federal prison for his infamous crime.Hey, little friend, now, don't you cry no more tears!He'll be out with good behavior in 700 more years.But now Vixen's in therapy,And Donner's still nervous,And the elves all got jobs working for the Postal Service,And they say Mrs. Claus, she's on the phone every night,With a lawyer negotiating the movie rights.They're talkin' 'bout...The night Santa went crazy,The night Saint Nicholas flipped,Broke his back for some milk and cookies,Sounds to me like he was tired of gettin' gypped.Whoa...The night Santa went crazy,The night Saint Nick went insane,Realized he'd been gettin' a raw deal,Something finally must've snapped in his brain.Tell ya, something finally must've snapped in his brain.Tell ya, something finally must have snapped...In his brain.
This being the second time Anon. has opted to post Weird Al lyrics as non sequitur comments to my weblog. But since Weird Al is one of the few true geniuses the world has produced in the last half century, who minds?
Rejecteth never the Poet's versefor upon thy noggin shall fall a cursethy days shall turneth for the worsethy life empty like a beggar's purse - LDM
Lord, how I fucking hate this damned donut poetry. I don't know what's worse: the actual verse, or the fact that this donut person seems to be so pleased with his/her lack of talent.
We love you Lonely Donut Man! Don't let others discourage you!
There once was a donut poet,Who had no talent but didn't know it,His verses did suck,But we're shit out of luck,'Cause you know he'll keep trying to flow it.
From my arse to thee wouldst I a fart to blow the lonely donut man dost knowthat poet's quill shot from bowlayeth loutish stinkards lowdour lad thou remindeth me of Edgar Allen Poeverily unto thee shall cometh only woeif thou wouldst maketh me thine foe - LDM
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