"Good morning Thomas" my little brother said.
I pulled out my itouch and played the game scrabble,
while my little brother was watching Dr. Who babble.
My electronic ran out of battery fairly quick,
why is this Christmas poem not about St. Nick?
My parents got up at the usual time,
they made me take a shower to get rid of the grime.
The scrabble game was frozen, my battery was low,
if misfortunes continued, my anger will grow.
The shower calmed me down but didn't prepare me,
for all of the floors that needed some cleaning.
My brother shouted with much arrogance,
"It was [my] turn to vacuum" without any evidence.
The vacuum was evil, and always put me in pain,
As I started to clean I did it in vein.
I felt like a robot with no Christmas spirit,
you could give me a car and I would easily forget it.
The Christmas tree was just another plant,
Christmas Carols were as dull as a Gregorian Chant.
By the time I was done, I felt like a corpse
The morning put me in mind warps.
Could I regain my Christmas joy you might ask,
I only had 12 more hours for me to unmask.
As I was floating in a bath of hate,
a light shined on me so amazing and great.
A ghost came near me and as I stood in aghast,
he said that he was the ghost of Christmas past.
I punched him in the face, but my fist went right through,
then we both disappeared in (what felt like) dew.
As the gas cleared out of my eyes,
I then started to realize,
that this poem is already too long.
Moral of this story: Never make your kids vacuum the house, or they will blog about it and take up a lot of your holiday time.
If you really want to know, I recovered after getting to eat some cookie dough and I am now having a good Christmas Eve. I hope this didn't spoil your Holiday joy.
-T-Dawg
No comments:
Post a Comment