Front page

Are you afraid of the dark?

(Click to invert colors, weenie.) (Requires JavaScript.)

All email will be assumed to be for publication unless otherwise requested.

What's in the banner?

Saturday, December 21, 2002

Home is the Hunter, Home from the Mall

This is the song of Niles and Angie
Hunters on the plains of Houston
Stalkers of the seasonal flora
Looking for a Christmas tree

The two hunters stalked their prey for two days through the moist plains of Houston. They must needs find the perfect specimen---not too tall, nor too short; not too wide, nor too narrow, healthy and lush.

Finally, they found a herd they liked, and cut out one of its members. Boldly they struck! They grasped their victim, and the man at the dressing station lopped off a piece of its end, bound the prickly organism fast, and helped the hunters stuff it into the back of their tiny Nissan.

They paused to remember earlier hunts, which took place in the windswept wastes near Lake Michigan, when the temperature was three below. How the wind cut like knives of ice! They remembered their first hunt in Houston, when it was 70 degrees, and they first knew the wonder of Christmas in a warmer climate. Ha ha! they laughed!

With many cries of joy and anticipation did the hunters carry their prize back to their home. Great care was used in extracting it from the Nissan, and the female lifted it into her arms and bore it up the stairs and into their fetid lair. As a last act of defiance, it attempted to knock a VCR off its perch, but there it was foiled. Once inside the questing beast was placed into a bucket of water, and unbound, since now it was helpless.

Now that the male has unearthed the necessary equipment, the sought-for prize will be sat upright and decked with shiny metal objects, lights, and goofy, degrading ornamentation.

While the female was preparing to vacuum the needles from the carpet, she heard a strange clicking sound coming from the tree. It turned out to be one of the gentle forest creatures which had nested in the tree! She turned in time to see a flying insect the size of her hand arise from the tree and light upon a quilted chicken. Carefully she lifted the chicken and moved it slowly to the door, and then with many curses and imprecations she shook it, and the dazed grasshopper fell to the ground and wandered off.

The hunters then turned their attention to the rare and deadly mistletoe. In vain did they seek of it in the floral jungles near their home. Finally they took their hunt into cyberspace, inquiring of the cryptic oracle Yahoo of places where it might be found. Finally a likely watering hole was located. The female's dancing digit made contact with a denizen of the watering hole. Yes! The mistletoe had been sighted. The male was dispatched to bring it back. Flippity-flap! sang his vorpal wallet as he wrested the mistletoe from its place, leaving behind only some worthless pieces of greenish paper. And in triumph did he bring the limp and poisonous clump into the lair.

And there was much rejoicing. Not to mention smooching.

(I was going to re-write this whole thing in Longfellow style, but got bored after three stanzas. You're welcome.)