Friday, 24 December 1999

'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS 1999

'Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the lot,
Not a person was working,
Not a movie was shot.

The stockings were hung
By the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nick
Now made thong underwear.

The Golden Globe voters
Were all snug in their beds,
While visions of cash payments
Danced in their heads.

And Drew in her sports bra
And Cam' in her lap,
Both dreamed that as Angels
They would not be crap.

When out on the lawn
There arose such a clatter,
I chose blue, not red...
What the hell was the matter?!

Away to the window
I ran like a flash,
And saw a Mercedes
Overloaded with cash.

The light of the moon
made the haul seem so green,
Was it a real half-billion,
Or just some real good CG?

When what to my wandering eyes
should appear,
But a digital cam'ra
And Steve Spielberg in fear.

That bearded car driver
So happ'ly engorged,
I knew in an instant,
It must be Saint George.

Faster than Powers
The money had came,
He whipped the directors
And mocked them by name;

"Now, Spielberg! Now, Kasden!
Now Hyuck! Now Bluth!
On Howard, Zemeckis,
On Johnston, Mel Smith!"

"To the Forbes highest paid
To our autonomy,
Go digital, CG-world
Come on, follow me!"

As re-writes that angry
Execs will send flyin',
When they meet with an obstacle
Writers are dyin'.

So up to the smog
The Mercedes it flew,
With all the fresh cash
And a number of jews.

And then in a twinkling,
I saw on my tube,
The many great movies,
Made by George's crew.

As I smiled at Used Cars
And engaged Indiana,
George walked in my door,
"Hey, you got a banana?"

He was dressed in a sweater,
And some corduroy pants,
And when I had no food for him,
he looked, well, askance.

A bag full of cash
He had on his back,
And he looked like a banker,
Or a guy who sold crack.

His eyes - how di-lated,
His dimples, how hairy,
His cheeks were like cheeks
And his nose, like Fred Berry.

His droll little mouth
was drawn up like a willow,
And the beard on his chin
looked like 2-week old Brillo.

The butt of the media
He held tight in his teeth,
And the stench, it engendered
Wrapped his head like a wreath.

He had a round face
Ands a round little butt,
And his belly, when laughing
Shook like Jabba The Hutt.

He was brilliant and tough,
More an Ewok than elf,
And I went to his movies,
In spite of myself.

A wink of his eye
And a nod of his head,
And I knew in an instant
He'd make celluloid dead.

He spoke no more words
But looked round to see
That I was watching a tube,
Not a HDTV.

So, he gave me the finger
And danced on his toes,
Then mocked me by saying,
"That Ebert, he blows!"

He got back in the car
And gave Spielberg a shove,
And though pissed off you could see
That George they did love.

I heard him shout out
Squealing into the night,
"Merry Christmas to all!
It's a digital life!"

To read 'Twas the Night Before Christmas 1998, click here.

To read 'Twas The Night Before Christmas 1997, click here.

HOLIDAY SCHEDULE:

Monday, 12/27 - Weekend Review
Tuesday, 12/28 - Top Ten Movies I Just Don't Get
Wednesday, 12/29 - The Worst Ten of 1999
Thursday, 12/30 - The Best Ten Films of 1999
Friday, 1/1/00 - New Year's Resolutions
Monday, 1/4/00 - Hot Button 2000 begins