Friday, December 24, 2004

The Bloggers' Xmas 

While we're waiting for someone to show the greatest American Christmas movie, which is, of course, Billy Wilder's The Apartment . . . .

We’d like to roll a yuletide log
For everyone who plugs our blog.
To members of the P.B.A.,
Whose name, by now, is legion: May
Your days be merry, and be bright;
Your Christmases be Paperwight.
May no one say Ferme ta bouche
To Scorpio or Scaramouche,
Or slam Scamboogah or Generik
As on the whole too esoteric;
May Mr. Gumby, Suckful, Shystee,
And Blogenlust stay lean and feisty;
And may no wingnut scum endanger
The Token Reader in his manger.

The stereo? We have it on
Our favorite Carol: Avedon.
We fix a star atop the tree
For Michael Miller’s P.D.P.;
We hang a stripey candy cane
For Pandagon and Pen-Elayne;
And, playing Santa, we arrange
A special bloggers' gift exchange:
For Mithras, who was very bad --
He saw a sleigh and simply had
To try the reindeer's harness on --
A great big lump of Cole from Juan.
The busty, brainy BlondeSense maidens
Get light bulbs from the Nielsen Haydens.
Bad Atti-dudes, you'll find it shocking,
But Here Be Monsters in your stocking.
(That thing that Susan Madrak got
Reminds us of a Rorschach blot.)

But wait! Don't go away. There's more.
We've still got Christmas gifts galore.
For Joe Wezorek -- hold the phone! --
A ticket to the All Spin Zone.
Hey, David Neiwert! You're the tops.
We give you Liberal Agit-Props.
Rude Pundit has a treat for Cursor:
The Art of Cursing Even Worser.
We welcome both our favorite Maxes:
Please join us in the Christmas Axis!
(Jesus loves you; this we know,
For Bill O’Reilly tells us so.)
Corrente and Norwegianity,
You win a date with Colmes and Hannity!
And Dr. Josh? For what it’s worth,
We wish you War & Piece on earth.

There's so much more, but now we fear it’s
Time to pour the Christmas spirits:
We’ve broken out our finest ‘nog
For Roger Ailes and Thomas Bogg,
And emptied out our last decanter
For Digby and the Yorkshire Ranter.
(We hope they didn't spot that bunch
Of Gadflies in the CounterPunch.)
Although we counsel moderation,
We’ll raise a glass to Altercation;
And who among us could refuse a
Toast to Tsuredzuregusa?
(Prometheus 6 has come Unbound;
We think he drank What Alice Found.)

The King would be a sorry yutz
Without his Zemblan patriots:
We’re pleased to know you, brave J.D.,
Beloved L.S. and K.Z.,
Esteemed J.M. and D.R.B.,
Distinguished M.F. and M.D.,
Learned B.K., wise T.C.,
Sweet R.K., who knows J.B.,
P.S., P.R., S. O’D.,
Of course, the Visionary Three --
That’s A.I., J.F., and R.B.
(Who often sell to G.V.G.) --
And all the others we forget
Who populate the alphabet:
Were it not for the likes of youse,
The King would have to read the news.

(We thought we’d finished; then it hit us
To honor those no longer wit’ us:
By which we mean the guys at T.I.T.S.
Who closed up shop [that was the shits],
And Hesiod, that fallen star,
And Billmon, saint of Whiskey Bar.
We hope to see much less attrition
In next year’s holiday edition.)

Two Thousand Four has been a pain.
It's friends like you who keep us sane.
So have a cup of Christmas cheer:
It can't get any worse next year.

Or . . . can it????

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