Big Pie, hee!

Ah, Christmas carols in Natter:

Betsy HP

I like the really old English songs, the ones about getting blotto on cider and holly trees and suchlike.

TomW

We are a simple folk. We sing, we dance, we drink, we puke in a holly bush.

UTTAD, in Natter:

Two of my mates had a kid last year, so this was my first time I've watched a baby grow up close at hand. The first time he said "apple" I couldn't've been more surprised if my cat said it.

Rio: Um, I've already mentioned this in Music and Natter, so I may as well make a big fucking thing about it. I'm getting married.

In bigger news: still cute.

...

(new COMM)

Nora: I was under the impression that if you 3 (+dogs) weren't going she'd be all by herself, alone in a dark room, listening to Leonard Coen, bourbon bottle in one hand, whisky bottle in the other.

brenda: Now that's Christmas.

Deena, in Goodbye and Good Riddance: My secret santa gift is going to be delayed going out because Kara stole part of it yesterday and I have yet to find it.

Cashmere:

Allyson, every cat deserves a theme song like that. My cat's would go something like this:

Oooooooswald, the evil little kitty
Oooooooswald, he likes to bite my toes and trip me
What the fuck ever possessed me to get another cat

ita, in Natter:

I understand now I will never be the homemaker that my mother is. Which is fair, since she can't kick people in the head.

Fay in F2F:

A Very Buffista Carol

Sprin-kle glitter on accountants falalalala-lala-la-la

Dress them up in shiny gold pants falalalala-lala-la-la

Don we now our gay apparel falalalala-lala-la-la

Yowl the ancient Troll God's carol falalalala-lala-la-la

See the fanfic challenge before us falalalala-lala-la-la

Gird your loins and join the porners falalalala-lala-la-la

Forget the roast and post at leisure falalalala-lala-la-la

Buffistas are true Yule-tide pleasure falalalala-lala-la-la

Our 5x5 True Faith unites us falalalala-lala-la-la

An Angel with dark wings delights us falalalala-lala-la-la

Join we now brothers and sisters falalalala-lala-la-la

Internet family: Buffistas! falalalala-lala-la-la

In Natter:

The Partyman:

Just burnt eggs. Not the best omen.

Daniel C. Jensen:

Only if they are all in one basket.

Then again, cooking eggs in the basket isn't such a good idea.

Unless it's a metal basket like the woman finds in her clothes dryer in that Energizer commercial, and you are boiling them in water, then it might be practical. But remember to use a pot holder, because heat transmits up into the metal handle and it could burn.

DX in Sang Sacre:

Just Another Christmas in Sang Sacre

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the town
Not a creature was stirring, not even a clown.
The party was over, the bar was now closed,
And snowflakes fell gently as everyone dozed.

The penguin was nestled all snug in his bed,
While visions of herring bits danced in his head,
So I sat in my study late into the night,
And caught up on the board by the monitor's light.

I typed up a note to be posted in Natter,
When out from the street there arose a great clatter.
I went to the window, and peeked though the blind,
Without an idea about what I would find.

The moonlight lit up all the new-fallen snow,
It was bright as midday, the world seemed aglow.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a honking great sleigh with a single reindeer.

But that was no reindeer, 'twas a dog name of Max.
And the back of the sleigh held a great pile of sacks,
And a furry green driver, the reins in his clinch,
I knew in a moment it must be the Grinch.

"We must stop! We must stop!"
His cadence kept drumming
"We must stop! We must stop
This Christmas from coming!
Now wait by the front porch,
I'll go through the door.
We've done all the houses,
There's just this one more."

And the Grinch then hopped down from his elegant ride,
Then he twirled on his heel, and he tip-toed inside.
He gathered up presents, and filled up a sack
And the ornaments, also, were soon in his pack.

The Grinch had been careful so he wouldn't be heard,
But he had not reckoned with the ears of a bird,
So there in the doorway, a penguin quite small,
Was asking why Santa was taking this haul.

But, you know, that old Grinch was so smart and so slick,
That he thought up a lie and he thought it up quick.
"Why my sweet little bird," —the fake Santa Claus lied —
"There's a light on this tree that won't light on one side."

So he got him a drink, and he patted his head,
And the trusting young penguin went back to his bed.
The Grinch grabbed his pack, and he turned round to flee,
And that's when he saw —unexpectedly —me.

His eyes, now they narrowed, his expression was wary,
His cheeks drained of color, his face wasn't merry.
His mouth came to life, and he muttered, "Oh, bugger..."
Because he had noticed my Louisville Slugger.

He looked all around for a way back outside,
Or at the very least a safe place he could hide.
I moved ever closer as I brandished my bat,
And I said to the Grinch, "It's time we had a chat."

So, converse there we did, I did not raise my voice.
At the end of our chat, I gave him a fair choice.
He could put back the presents, the trees, and the lights,
Or I'd call up a preacher to read him last rites.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And I followed along, to make sure he'd not shirk.
He replaced all the stockings, the gifts, and the trees,
He brought back the roasts and the holiday cheese.

He when he had finished, with the sky turning gray,
He called out for Max, and climbed into his sleigh.
And I yelled after him, 'ere he slunk out of sight,

"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"