Bahhum Bug

Far, far away theres a little, old town,
Where bugs scuttle free and roam all around,

That's right, I said bugs, little insects and such,
They walk and they talk and they keep in good touch,

Just like us people they eat and they sleep,
But from our point of view they seem only to creep,

They ride around town but not in bug truckies,
Here they ride carriages and the bugs pull the buggies,

And at the edge of this town lives the kindest young bug,
If you were tiny and saw him he'd give you a big hug,

But this friendly bug seems only to annoy,
For his name isn't one that normally brings joy,

He comes from afar and is named after that place,
He comes from Bahhum, and such is the case,

He's the bug from Bahhum, and a hole his name's dug,
It's a rotten coincidence for the nice, young, Bahhum Bug

The Cookie Platter Plague

The cookie platter plague is not something to take lightly,

If it gets you even once, it’s bound to get you nightly,

You think you can run, and you think you can hide,

You think you’ll eat just one, but two you’ve already eyed,

Before you know it, you’ve had 3 then five and then ten,

It’s only a matter of time before you swear, “never again.”

You go farther and a farther away, to the other side of the room,

To avoid the Cookie Platter Plague and all its impending doom,

But doom and gloom you should embrace for there is something you should know,

That’s only the first house Santa, and you have plenty more to go.

YSA Christmas Breakfast

Love Stinks

Once there was a girl, who really, really stunk,

It wasn't from the swamp where she fell in and sunk,

For daily she bathed and loved a good dunk,

It wasn’t her messy room and all of her junk.

Or her dirty dolls and toys she kept in a wooden trunk,

Nor did she get smelly from some smelly funk

And didn’t stink from her bed down on the bottom bunk,

Not because she traveled and lived with the monks,

Nor cause the spaghetti she spilled in big chunks,

Or from the garbage she emptied out in huge hunks,

Oh no, my friends. It’s definitely not as you thunk,

The reason she stunk was cause she fell in love with a skunk.

William Barrow

William Barrow was the best, beetdigger in all the land,

In his first year digging beets, he harvested twelve grand,

In year two he doubled that, and the entire size of his farm,

In year three he had beets, spilling right out of the barn,

In year four he had more, in fact he had a million,

By year five Mr. Will, why he had beetdug a billion,

Thus he had too many beets, whatever would he do?

He should have seen this coming back in year number two,

Mr. Barrow had more beets, far more than he could carry,

Carrying them one by one, would take so long it was scary,

But in year six Will came up with a genius plan,

Using some sticks, an old wheel, and a big, metal can,

He hooked them together and stacked beets high as a sparrow,

And moved the beets in loads, that genius Will Barrow.

Ode to 26

Oh brother Scott, this one is for you,

Today is your birthday, quarter century number two

The big twenty six, and big I hope it to be,

Twenty five is no more, and the difference you shall see,

Twenty five is for rookies, young guns without drive,

But you are twenty six and really hitting your stride,

No more meaningless dates, or dead-end careers,

At age twenty six you’re wise beyond your years,

No more eating at tables, for you it’s breakfast in bed,

Cereal never tasted so good as when a pillow’s under head,

And car payments, HAH, you laugh in their face,

You own that Veloster, with style and with grace,

And don’t get me started on your new fashion tricks,

You look so dapper, it should be Forever Twenty Six,

Even your basketball skills have suffered but naught,

In fact you’re developing a decent old man shot,

And forget about jogging, that’s whipper snapper play,

Rather a gentle cycle on a warm, sunny Saturday,

No more eating veggies or whatever you don’t want,

Just pop a gummy vitamin cause nobody’s there to daunt,

And bonus NBA channels? You see no reason why not,

For it’s your TV subscription, and the Jazz are gonna be hot,

There’s a lot you can do now, you have turned Twenty Six,

You can live your own life, full of giggles and full of kicks,

And do what you want, when you want, and how,

Cause twenty five is over and twenty six is right now,

So my dear brother enjoy, today and beyond as well,

Cause I’m still twenty three and have two more years of hell.

Thayne Skiffing

Let me tell you about a guy, 

from the eastern plains,

His last name is Skiffing,

and his first name is Thayne,

Thayne was born on a Thursday, 

the fourth one in November,

He's had an interesting life, 

one I'm sure you'll remember,

See today  is Thayne's birthday,

and he's over 100 years old,

Every year he throws a party, 

for the best country in the world,

Say it together with me,

merka merka, merka the brave,

At his parties we eat turkey,

But the dessert's what you crave,

He's half Native American,

And half of him is Pilgrimese,

He's a very thankful person,

And says families are the key,

He'll make sure you over eat,

If you're ever his hosted guest,

He'll trick you into playing football,

And you'll never play your best,

And he's always got a big smile,

Cause happy is how he's living,

He's pie eating, football playing,

Good ole Happy Thayne Skiffing.

Freakbast

I had breakfast for dinner

So I had dinner for lunch,

I skipped lunch cause of breakfast

Cause breakfast was brunch,

But because breakfast was brunch

That means I had brunch for dinner

But I had dinner for lunch

Which I skipped to get thinner

So really I skipped dinner

I skipped breakfast and brunch

I skipped a lot of meals

The day I skipped lunch

But I did it for breakfast

Cause breakfast is the winner

I’ll gladly skip the others

To have breakfast for dinner

Fruit Made of Wood

Life is lonely for Fruit made of wood,

It never satisfies quite like it should,

Always getting hopes up then letting them down,

It must be tough only seeing people frown,

“Ooh, an apple! Nope. It isn’t real.”

I can’t imagine how that apple must feel

It will never be sauce, it will never be pie

It will be fruit made of wood til the day that it dies.

Thanksgiving Potluck At Work

In case you weren’t informed, the harvest season is here,

Summer came and went, and winter is already near,

Thus Turkey Day is upon us, it’s time to eat a lot,

It’s a time for giving thanks, whether you are religious or not,

For Thanksgiving and Digitas, have roots in the same place,

Back to Massachusetts we look, our heritage to trace,

But now we’ve come out west, some from far, some from close,

So to each and every one of us here, I think it’s time we toast,

Toast to you, toast to me, toast to man, woman, and child,

Thursday November 15^th in the Palm Court, it’s going to be wild,

From twelve pm to one, we will gather round the table,

Family style it shall be, so please bring whatever you are able,

Bring your famous mashed potatoes, if you would so we all can try,

Or bring a side or a main dish, as long as there’s pumpkin pie,

Or if you’re feeling really giving, and cooking just isn’t your thing,

Please bring something to donate, in the form of food or clothing,

We’ll send it to those who suffered, because of Sandy the Hurricane,

And hope for their quick recovery, while alleviating some of their pain.

Sign up at Lauren Reibel’s desk, the more the merrier and better you’ll see,

Feel free to ask for more details, about this festive harvest party,

Cause we’d hate to have no drinks, or perhaps only meat,

Shout out to my vegan friends, better believe I’ll save you a seat,

And use the kitchen that morning, for food prep if you must,

Bake a pie so its fresh, or purchase a store bought crust,

So come thankful and come hungry, come Sara Montague and Eric Dean,

But don't come Ebay, Taco Bell, or Kaiser, if you know what I mean,

That’s Thursday the fifteenth, from twelve-noon until one,

Or until the booze gets flowing, then we’ll really have some fun.

Norm Ali on St. Patrick's Day

On March 17th, Norm Ali couldn’t have been more excited for school. For you see, Norm’s mom had taught him everything that was normal for people to do on St. Patrick’s Day.  Norm was prepared for everything.

Before Norm had come downstairs, his mom called up to him, “Norm, today is St. Patrick’s Day. Normally everyone wears green on St. Patrick’s Day so they don’t get pinched.”

“Gotcha,” called back Norm, “I know.”

Norm came bouncing down the stairs with excitement wearing all green, from head to toe.

At school, Norm’s teacher took the class outside to play on the playground.

“Norm,” his teacher said, “Today is St. Patrick’s Day. Normally on St. Patrick’s Day everyone hunts around in the grass to find lucky clovers.”

“That’s right,” said Norm with his finger in the air, “I collected these on the way to school.” (Norm pulls an entire handful of clovers out of his pocket)

After lunch, Norm’s teacher was telling the class about the St. Patrick’s Day Legend.

“Class,” his teacher said, “Today is St. Patrick’s Day. Normally on St. Patrick’s Day the leprechauns hide something at the end of all the rainbows. Do you know what it is that they hide?”

“I know,” thought Norm as he waved his arm back and forth, “I know.”

Norm’s teacher called on him, “Yes Norm, it looks like you know the answer.”

“Gold!” shouted Norm, “Pots of gold.”

“That’s right,” his teacher said.

Norm smiled to himself. He was so proud that he had remembered everything on St. Patrick’s Day.

“But it is only a myth,” his teacher said, “I can’t say I have ever heard of anyone actually seeing a leprechaun or finding any gold.”

“Wait,” Norm thought.  “I didn’t know that. I thought that leprechauns were real…”

Norm was crushed. His teacher had just told him that the most exciting thing about St. Patrick’s Day was only a myth. Norm could hardly believe his ears.

Norm walked slowly home in the rain. The day had gone so well until the very end. He had never been so sad in all his life.

Just before norm got home, the rain stopped and the sun started to peek out through the separating clouds. Norm looked up and saw the biggest rainbow he had ever seen.

“Wow,” said Norm, “It’s huge. And it looks like it ends right behind my house.”

But Norm remembered his teacher telling him the gold was only a myth.

“Norm,” he said to himself, “Today is St. Patrick’s Day. Normally on St. Patrick’s Day leprechauns hide pots full of gold at he end of all the rainbows. Mom even said so.”

(So he runs around the house to the big tree in the back to look.)

“Mom!”

(Norm’s face reflects a shining bright light from something on the ground as his mom approaches from behind him with a shocked look on her face)

And so, St. Patrick’s Day became anything but normal for Norm Ali.

(As they carry the pot of gold inside, a leprechaun is peeking his head out from behind the big tree)