Tiny Tim...you've got a little something in your teeth there. - E. Scrooge.
I think this quote says it best. Elvira Scrooge(Ebenezer's angry, yet vile, sister) would never have alerted anyone to a piece of broccoli in their bicuspid, had those 3 ghost guys not have frightened her brother so terribly, and thus, the Christmas spirit.
This poem is a reflection of this seasonal kindness, as seen through the eyes of some people who have yaks roaming through their households. I think most of you will get it, but if you don't, it's the story of 'Yulelog' McGibbons, who was named such as he loved to watch that Yule log thing on Christmas every year, until that unfortunate time in 1987 when he leaned in too close and his nose caught fire through his TV set. He ended up suing channel 11, and got $3 million cash, but his proboscis was never the same, and his decision to purchase yaks to roam around in his house, with the settlement money was widely panned by his family members. Anyway, this is his story:
The last of the chickens lay splayed in their bed,
While the beasts of St. Neder wore fingers of lead
And the memories of leaflets that clouded our view,
Spoke of legions of muskrats that lived in a shoe
The long, lonely nights of ribbons and trees,
Fall to short, angry days with a circus of fleas
And all of the musings of Tarrytown joys,
Remember the pot roast, eaten by boys
Oh, Ari Phelonger, you demon of goats!
I gave you my pencil, and stories you wrotes
And yet, Millie Tomchecque, a philomene truss!
While Billy McGibbons got hit by that bus.
The wayfair electric, so solemn with cheese,
Ran a gambit of numbers, from sevens to threes
And yet his parombal, effusive extension,
Ran futility long, despite his ascension
Hairy, hairy, hairy lummoxes!
Forever demand cardboardian boxes
For if you had gathered some creme-based hair gel,
We could pardon your wonderful, terrible smell!
Arnold, place the spectral star,
Upon that bough way up thar
The beauty of our Christmas tree...
Is only marred by that yak pee.