'Twas the night before Christmas,
And all through the house
Not a creature was stirring,
Not even a—HEY!

'Twas the night before Christmas,
And all through the house
Not a creature was stirring,
Not even a—HEY!

| Oh, the devils outside are frightful, But on fire, they're so delightful. And since we've no place to go, Let 'em groan! Let 'em groan! Let 'em groan! |
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| Chester roasting on an open fire, Jack Frost nipping off your nose. You'll find Carol being sucked by Claire, And folks in pies of Eskimo. |
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| Silent night, holy Christ! Here they come! This ain't right! Round yon corner, mother and child Shamble toward us bloody and wild. Death would be a relief. Death would be a relief. |
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| Hark! the herald angels sing, "Blast the head off that damn thing!" Please unearth us some more food. God! us sinners are all screwed. |
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| I'm dreaming of a red Christmas, Unlike the ones we used to know. Where bodies glisten, And we all listen, For sounds of movement down below. |
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| Have yourself a very brittle Christmas As your limbs decay. From now on, Your arms will both be miles away. |
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| Come and hold me, pa rum pa pum pum. An awful thing to see, pa rum pa pum pum. Our finest are dying, pa rum pa pum pum. Then re-animating, pa rum pa pum pum, Rum pa pum pum, rum pa pum pum. |
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| On the fifth day of Christmas, My true love gave to me: Five cold dead things! Four mauling hordes, Three strange men, Two useless guns, And a car for which I have no key. |
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I got Marcelle when she was two years old. Born in Uzbekistan and raised in France, she was shy yet talkative, the complete opposite of Marcel Marceau. She was easily frightened and uninterested in toys — and sometimes, easily frightened by toys — and she looked like a miniature Maine coon, with a tiny bend at the end of her tail where it must've been caught in a door when she was a kitten.
Archvillain
NumbWhen some of the carnies came up to me, I said, "I'm numb."Yet, as best I can remember, not one person in the entire novel refers to him by name. That Sean Ferrell sure is a clever one.
This became my name.



I have a brittle ladle. I made it out of clay.
And if it's dry and ready, I'll serve you soup today.
Oh ladle, ladle, ladle, it's so much fun to say.
And whether borscht or lentil, I'll serve you soup today.
No, this is not a review of Joshua Ferris's first novel.1 I'm referring to the end of November. The end of my many NaNos. Here's how I fared:
NaNoRhyMo (National Novel Rhyming Month)Today I'm participating in the Early Bird Thanksgiving Blogfest (hosted by Jeffrey Beesler over at World of the Scribe), which I'd hoped would allow me to celebrate Thanksgiving a day early, since it is my favorite holiday. Alas, no. All it means is I'll be gushing on about the things I'm most grateful for. Not that I gush; it's not really my style.
So, behold! Me not gushing:In South Central Maine I was born and raisedThis year I'm submitting half as many entries, which is perfectly acceptable, because unlike the other NaNoWriMo, this one is about quality, not quantity.
At the Barrens where I spent most of my days,
Running, and hiding, being bullied by fools,
Sometimes constructing a dam when not at school,
When this one creepy clown who was up to no good
Started killing children in my neighborhood.
There was but one little death and we all got scared;
Instead of Pennywise we should’ve made a date with Linda Blair.
Take me out of my dis-trict,
Take me out of my home.
Make me some dresses and tasty snacks,
All I care is that I make it back
'Cause it's root, root, root through my backpack.
If there's no knife, it's a shame.
For it's twen-ty-three deaths each year
In the Hun-ger Games!
Now I lay him down to sleep,
I pray the orcs won't take Helm's Deep;
Should Frodo die or never wake,
Sam holds the Ring, and thus, our fate.
Every sperm whale's sacred,
Every blue whale's great,
But if the white's not wasted,
Ahab's still irate.1
1 That's right: I used a song about sperm to reference the big Dick. Admit it, you wish you'd thought of it first.
Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet
Flashing a smile his way,
But along came Spider, to trick her (and ride her);
It just wasn't Fat Charlie's day.2
2 For those of you who assumed I'd use the whole "along came a spider" nonsense to tout a certain James Patterson novel by that name, there's something you need to know: When it comes to literature, Gaiman always trumps Patterson.
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
But was it a fall? Or was it a push?
Jack thinks it's murder. (Don't ruin it! Shush!)3
3 They can't all be masterpieces
"Hey, Aeneas, what is this?"
"This, this... is Scylla and Charybdis."
"Do you think they mean us harm?"
"Undoubtedly. Sound the alarm."
"Which one, the glockenspiel or chime?"
"Never mind, we don't have time."
"Why are we sailing straight ahead?"
"Go left or right, we'll all be dead."
"We're gonna die! I know, I've seen it!"
"Anybody want a peanut?"4
4 Yes, I know The Aeneid is actually an epic poem, not a novel, and that it already rhymes. So what? Anything that leads to a Princess Bride reference is a win in my book.5
5 Not an actual book.
Last night, for my brother's birthday, we went to see the movie Skyline. From both the previews and the reviews, I was well aware of what to expect: a film with some quality special effects, but little else of value. Knowing this, I decided I'd watch the film with a critical eye, to see what I'd have done differently had I written the script.
Nymph: You can't be Inigo Montoya without a rapier.Half an hour later, I stepped away and changed into this getup:
Inigo: A what?
Nymph: A rapier.
Inigo: You keep using that whord. I do not think it means what you think it means.

![]() (2007 movie) | ![]() (Not what you're thinking; 2010 movie) |
![]() (Percy Bysshe Shelly sonnet) | (1st song on Weezer's 1st album) |
![]() (Saturday Night Live skit) | ![]() (Personalized birthday song in the '70s) |

Remember, remember the fifth of November,So it turns out my memory of the lyrics was a little off. Nor was my explanation entirely accurate, seeing how it was culled from Wikipedia. Anyway, thanks to new information from a reputable source,3 I can now present to you the original rhyme:
The gunpowder treason and plot.
Something something something something
Should ever be forgot.
Remember, remember the fifth of November,I'll break this down line by line, so it's easier to understand.
The gunpowder trees, onion plot.
I see no Rhys in the gunpowder trees, and
Should Everard be for Gott?
Remember, remember the fifth of NovemberThis one's obvious: Remember the fifth letter of November. Remember M. There is some conjecture as to whether M was the nickname for Sir Francis Tresham (the man some say wrote the anonymous letter that averted Parliament's destruction), or if it simply stands for Monteagle (a.k.a. William Parker, the 4th Baron of Monteagle, who received the letter). Either way, thanks to this line, both men shall always be remembered.
The gunpowder trees, onion plot.This rumor has never been proven, but it is said that prior to their failed attack, the conspirators stored their gunpowder in a group of hollowed-out trees next to a plot of land where one of the men grew onions. This onion patch acted as an excellent landmark for them.
I see no Rhys in the gunpowder trees, andRhys is Rhys ap Gruffydd, a leader in uprisings in 12th century Wales. Historians believe this line was inserted into the rhyme by the Welsh to tout that no Welshmen were among the conspirators, in the hope Wales would be held in higher regard by the rest of Britain. It didn't work.
Should Everard be for Gott?Sir Everard Digby, one of the conspirators, won some supporters with his eloquent defense in court, and they believed he should not be given over to Gott (or God, in German). Of course, that didn't stop him from being hanged, drawn and quartered.

"A disappointing incident occurred this morning on the UCONN campus when a male protester at a pre-election rally shoved a young woman supporting Linda. She is fine and has declined to file charges against him, but it is disappointing that Dick Blumenthal's campaign has resorted to intimidation."
Far too many writerly blogs have been talking about NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) this past week, so I'll relegate my thoughts on that topic to a footnote,1 and move onto something far more important:
1958 Ford Edsel, only 50,000 mi, excellent condition. $500 OBO.You shouldn't have to pay that much for an oboe that can't play an E.



A Conn College student late one nightConfused yet? Well, let me 'splain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up.
Of Ixion did inquire
Turns to the footnote and there finds
Sometimes the wheel is on fire
Anyway, a while back, two friends were reading about Ixion for a course on Greek mythology. A king of the Lapiths, Ixion murdered his father-in-law and later lusted after Hera, causing Zeus to expel him from Mount Olympus.Before:![]() | After:![]() |
| Meme | Rule | Reaction |
|---|---|---|
| Forwarded surveys | Answer 21 questions about myself, then send to 21 friends | I don't answer any question seriously, then only send it to those who sent it to me |
| Chain letters | Send to 10 friends, or never find true love | I send it out, but only after converting it into a Mad-Lib |
| Certain dances | Do the exact same moves as everyone else at the exact same time, because we said so | I avoid them like the plague avoids them1 |
Nominate 15 other bloggers to pass the luv.First of all, if I'm going to pass along a misspelled word, it's going to be a misspelled word of my choosing, such as "sammich" or "Canadia." And secondly, it's too hard to pick which 15 bloggers to give this award. Instead, I'll fall back on my versatility once again:
Nominate 15 other bloggers to pass theWho am I nominating? You. That's right! If you're among the first 15 to read this, I've just nominated you for an all-expense paid trip to Paris!2 Just think about it: la Tour Eiffel (the Eiffel tower), la Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris (the Cathedral of Notre Dame), and l'Arc de Triomphe (the Lark of Triumph) are all now within your grasp.luvLouvre.