Monday, December 24, 2007

A Very Film Geek Christmas

Twas the night before X-mas,
And all through Film Geek Primer HQ,
Three film geeks were stirring,
Namely Santo, Dub, and our pal Schu.

All around the studio, decorations shone with a gleam,
And presents from viewers were no where to be seen.
The empty DVD cases were hung by the chimney with care
In hopes that Roger Ebert soon would be there.

Santo lay nestled all geeky in his bed
While visions of skewered Michael Bay danced in his head.
With Schu on the throne, and Dub snoring the blues,
They all settled down for a long winter's snooze.

When out in the hall, there arose such a clatter.
Santo sprang from his crusty bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window, he flew like a flash,
And drew his shotgun like Evil Dead hero Ash.

When, what to Santo’s tired eyes should appear,
But a stumbling Mexican Wrestler with a bag full of cheer.
He was mumbling and grumbling and choking on his sick,
Santo guessed it might be Santa or some other prick.

He noticed that Santa was dressed in red fur from his head to his knees,
And he stank of cheap hooch, Christmas holly, and rotten cheese.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! His dimples how lame!
His nose was like roses, like he was stoned on cocaine!

His dreams of meeting Santa were finally coming true,
But he was really hoping for Mr. Hankey, the Christmas Poo.
Suddenly from behind Masked Santa eight tiny people came
And the drunken doofus called them out by name:

"Now, Shane! Now, Aaron! Now, Sally y Darren!
On Peter, on Mary, on Mel, y Carrie!
It’s safe in here, let’s forget these past weeks!
Come in, drink up, and spend time with film geeks!

“This'll be better,” Mexi Santa shouted, “than winning a thousand Lottos,
Or spending X-mas watching the films of George P. Cosmatos!”
Santo shook his head in disgust for he disagreed,
And thought he’d rather get kicked in, and pooped on, and peed.

“What are you doing?” irritated Santo yelled, “Get out!”
“Get the hell out of my house, like right freakin’ now!”
Santa stared at him until his brain began to hurt,
And said, “Why would you turn us away, you Godard-loving jerk?”

“Who are you and why should I care?” Santo retorted.
“They are striking TV writers”, Santa huffily snorted.
“They work so hard to bring you daily crap,

And this is how you thank them, by sending them back?”

So Santo let them stay in his humble abode,
And the feelings of hostility so began to erode.
They broke out in song and ate pie ala mode.
And Santo and the geeks thought, “This might make a good episode”.

Um. No.

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