It must be my brother's birthday if this bit of humor is going out. Happy Birthday, Kevvo!
Kill the turkeys, ducks and chickens
Mix the punch, drag out the Dickens,
Even though the prospect sickens
Brother, here we go again!
On Chistmas Day you can't get sore,
Your fellow man you must adore,
There's time to rob him all the more
The other three hundred and sixty-four!
Relations sparing no expense'll
Send some useless old utensil
Or a matching pen and pencil,
"Just the thing I need... how nice."
It doesn't matter how sincere it
Is or how heartfelt the spirit,
Sentiment will not endear it:
What's important is THE PRICE.
Hark! The Herald-Tribune sings,
Advertising wonderous things!
God rest ye, merry merchants,
may ye make the yuletide pay...
Angels we have heard on high...So...
Tell us to go out and buy!