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EI Christmas Cale


This is the saga of Noel X. Yule,

Whom everyone thought was a drudge and a fool.

All called him a jerk and not without reason,

But never during the Christmas season.

For old school chums or to patch up rifts,

For every givee, he knew just the gifts:

Lead gloves to Joe for playful boxin,

And for Cousin Sally a water mocsin,

A Karloff doll for little Gwendolyn,

A box of gunpowder to light a candle in,

A cap of flowers and a kirtle,

Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle.

Yule's gifts were uncomfortable, dangerous, shocking,

And made him the heel of the Christmas stocking.

He shopped early to miss all the clawing and bloodying,

And was able to spend his vacation studying.

He could trim a tree with incredible arts,

And knew "White Christmas" in all its four parts.

But he met his end just like you'd expect him;

His Christmas spirit finally wrecked him.

It's a wonderful story, a fine December bit,

But to tell the truth we can't remember it.

It was awfully long and its moral was stinted,

So perhaps it's just as well we don't print it.

Now please don't think we've been feeding on hashish;

It's not so easy as some people think, when they're in a whimsical mood, to be Ogden Nashish.

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