It's a Davyful life.
Dec. 22nd, 2006 11:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
davywavyThis is getting to be a habit.
‘twas the night before Christmas And here, once again,
Sits David still working (he's going insane)
His eyes red with worry His brow creased with dread
And on the desk 'fore him Tax bills coloured red.
"These taxes aren't festive!" In woe David cries
"They're just for John Prescott, to keep him in pies!
It makes not a difference how much I do work
My revenues are stolen by a chancellor, berserk.
There's just one thing for it", our hero opines
"James Stewart was right!", and to the window he climbs.
When in through that window a gay Christmas sprite
Swoops light from the heavens, a thistledown flight.
"Wait now, dear David! Pause a moment! Desist!
How worse things would be - If you didn't exist."
"I don't care," David whined with his eye minatory
"I'm going to jump out now, and then you'll be sorry."
"You sound just like your LJ", the angel retorts
"Once you've seen what I'll show you, you'll have second thoughts."
With a flutter of wings, to the rooftops we fly.
"Over there! In the square! Christmas songs I hear. Why,
"Tis the Salvation Army, in crimson and blue
With cornet and drum, and collecting tin, too!
But who's the trombonist? His face rings a bell.
If it's not ukmonty! And sober, as well!"
"That's right. Without you driving him over the edge
He's reformed! Dry! Teetotal! He's taken the pledge
And standing there with him is Robinbloke, too
Without your bad influence he’s sworn off the brew
The temperance league has made him a saint
Now that he’s free of liquor’s foul taint."
Then oe'r London we soar, till the glad air is rent
With the Islington Multi Faith Winter Event.
"Why, 'tis Tiffany, helping poor mendicants claim
More handouts than many a Council could name."
"You're right. She’s a council employee. Bereft
Of your guidance, her politics moved to the left.
As a Socialist, Tiffany lives to redress
The self-proclaimed needy with taxpayer's largesse."
And down in a showman’s booth, scowling, defiant,
He takes on all comers – the Fenian Giant!
A great strapping lad standing seven feet four
But look, it is Marc. He’s not short any more!
“Your presence on earth had stunted his growth –
Now he’s reached true potential”, the seraphim quoth.
His moll looks admiring, but secretly thinks
She misses his head as a rest for her drinks.
And here’s Raggedhalo, who’s found great enjoyment
From having at last taken worthwhile employment
He manages hedge funds, a million a day
And takes home a goodly percentage as pay.
And shambling now through terror-filled streets
A zombie, seeking out tasty brains which he eats
“It’s raggedy man!”, I cry with a point at the dread.
“Without me to save him he fell down stone dead,
So finally achieving his lifelong ambition
To wander the earth in an undead condition.”
Then flying straight northwards, the ghost takes my hand
To find my chum Neilhist in a mansion that’s grand
“Without you as a housemate his talents they blazed”,
The Christmas sprite tells me in tones fain amazed
“And having not shared in Grange Avenue
He’s rich and successful, a real parvenu”
And Christi, who’s earning a fine handsome wage
By performing stand up humour on stage
“Without you there to make her depressed
She’s now a true paragon of wit and of jest.”
Then over the Ocean to Wendy and Sean
Who’ve given up drinking, the guns and the porn
“Without your bad influence to lead them astray
They read from the Bible and pray every day.”
Now back over Stevenage a flight path we trace
“Hold a moment there,” I say, “Oh, God, not this place.”
“That’s my office! Those men are my partners! How strange.
They look like they’re smiling at work, for a change.”
Like a zephyr the angel descends through the air
And out of the office we hear them declare,
“How healthy our end-of-year balance sheet is!
Break out the cigars, and crack open the fizz!
Without any dead weight our profits to leech,
We’ve bought a large house in Belgravia, each.”
“So what you are saying”, I said to the ghost
“Is that life without me is better for most?
“There’s peace on the earth and goodwill to all men?
Well, screw all that nonsense – I’ll live, to spite them.”
And so I agree it’s a wonderful life
Despite the tax-office caused non-stop strife
And so to my readers this message of cheer
“Bah, humbug. I’ll see you lot next year.”
‘twas the night before Christmas And here, once again,
Sits David still working (he's going insane)
His eyes red with worry His brow creased with dread
And on the desk 'fore him Tax bills coloured red.
"These taxes aren't festive!" In woe David cries
"They're just for John Prescott, to keep him in pies!
It makes not a difference how much I do work
My revenues are stolen by a chancellor, berserk.
There's just one thing for it", our hero opines
"James Stewart was right!", and to the window he climbs.
When in through that window a gay Christmas sprite
Swoops light from the heavens, a thistledown flight.
"Wait now, dear David! Pause a moment! Desist!
How worse things would be - If you didn't exist."
"I don't care," David whined with his eye minatory
"I'm going to jump out now, and then you'll be sorry."
"You sound just like your LJ", the angel retorts
"Once you've seen what I'll show you, you'll have second thoughts."
With a flutter of wings, to the rooftops we fly.
"Over there! In the square! Christmas songs I hear. Why,
"Tis the Salvation Army, in crimson and blue
With cornet and drum, and collecting tin, too!
But who's the trombonist? His face rings a bell.
If it's not ukmonty! And sober, as well!"
"That's right. Without you driving him over the edge
He's reformed! Dry! Teetotal! He's taken the pledge
And standing there with him is Robinbloke, too
Without your bad influence he’s sworn off the brew
The temperance league has made him a saint
Now that he’s free of liquor’s foul taint."
Then oe'r London we soar, till the glad air is rent
With the Islington Multi Faith Winter Event.
"Why, 'tis Tiffany, helping poor mendicants claim
More handouts than many a Council could name."
"You're right. She’s a council employee. Bereft
Of your guidance, her politics moved to the left.
As a Socialist, Tiffany lives to redress
The self-proclaimed needy with taxpayer's largesse."
And down in a showman’s booth, scowling, defiant,
He takes on all comers – the Fenian Giant!
A great strapping lad standing seven feet four
But look, it is Marc. He’s not short any more!
“Your presence on earth had stunted his growth –
Now he’s reached true potential”, the seraphim quoth.
His moll looks admiring, but secretly thinks
She misses his head as a rest for her drinks.
And here’s Raggedhalo, who’s found great enjoyment
From having at last taken worthwhile employment
He manages hedge funds, a million a day
And takes home a goodly percentage as pay.
And shambling now through terror-filled streets
A zombie, seeking out tasty brains which he eats
“It’s raggedy man!”, I cry with a point at the dread.
“Without me to save him he fell down stone dead,
So finally achieving his lifelong ambition
To wander the earth in an undead condition.”
Then flying straight northwards, the ghost takes my hand
To find my chum Neilhist in a mansion that’s grand
“Without you as a housemate his talents they blazed”,
The Christmas sprite tells me in tones fain amazed
“And having not shared in Grange Avenue
He’s rich and successful, a real parvenu”
And Christi, who’s earning a fine handsome wage
By performing stand up humour on stage
“Without you there to make her depressed
She’s now a true paragon of wit and of jest.”
Then over the Ocean to Wendy and Sean
Who’ve given up drinking, the guns and the porn
“Without your bad influence to lead them astray
They read from the Bible and pray every day.”
Now back over Stevenage a flight path we trace
“Hold a moment there,” I say, “Oh, God, not this place.”
“That’s my office! Those men are my partners! How strange.
They look like they’re smiling at work, for a change.”
Like a zephyr the angel descends through the air
And out of the office we hear them declare,
“How healthy our end-of-year balance sheet is!
Break out the cigars, and crack open the fizz!
Without any dead weight our profits to leech,
We’ve bought a large house in Belgravia, each.”
“So what you are saying”, I said to the ghost
“Is that life without me is better for most?
“There’s peace on the earth and goodwill to all men?
Well, screw all that nonsense – I’ll live, to spite them.”
And so I agree it’s a wonderful life
Despite the tax-office caused non-stop strife
And so to my readers this message of cheer
“Bah, humbug. I’ll see you lot next year.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-12-22 12:00 pm (UTC)So finally achieving his lifelong ambition
To wander the earth in an undead condition.
Excellent stuff; Merry Christmas!
no subject
Date: 2006-12-22 12:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-22 12:11 pm (UTC)Thanks for the seasonal mention :)
no subject
Date: 2006-12-22 12:03 pm (UTC)merry festive salutations, etc. i mean, happy christmas.
x
no subject
Date: 2006-12-22 12:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-22 12:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-22 12:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-22 01:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-22 12:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-22 12:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-22 12:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-22 12:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-22 12:26 pm (UTC)*grin*
Don't get me wrong, I'd like to have loads and loads of money. I'd probably give most of it away, though.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-22 06:49 pm (UTC)well done sir
no subject
Date: 2006-12-23 01:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-23 12:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-24 03:32 pm (UTC)Bravo.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-25 06:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-27 01:06 pm (UTC)Many women I've known do just that, so one more won't hurt.