Unicorn (Unicorn@Indenial.com)
Sun, 03 Jan 1999 11:03:32 -0500
"The Politically Correct 12 Days of Christmas"
On the twelfth day of the Eurocentrically imposed midwinter
festival, my true love gave to me...
Twelve males reclaiming their inner warrior through ritual
drumming.
Eleven pipers piping.
(plus the 18-member pit orchestra made up of members in
good standing of the Musician's Union, as called for in their
union contract even though they will not be asked to play a
single note.)
Ten melanin-deprived testosterone-poisoned scions of the
patriarchal ruling class system leaping.
Nine persons engaged in rhythmic self-expression.
Eight economically disadvantage female persons stealing
milk products from enslaved Bovine-Americans.
Seven endangered swans swimming on federally protected
wetlands.
Six enslaved Fowl-Americans producing non-human animal
products.
Five golden symbols of culturally sanctioned enforced
domestic incarceration.
(Note:
After a member of the Animal Liberation Front threatened
to throw red paint on my computer, the calling birds,
French hens and partridge have been reintroduced into the
wild. To avoid further animal-American enslavement, the
remaining have been revised.)
Four hours of recorded whale songs.
Three deconstructionist poets.
Two Sierra Club calendars printed on recycled processed
trees.
And a Spotted Owl activist chained to an old-growth pear
tree.
************************************************************
"The Twelve Days After Christmas"
The first day after Christmas
My true love and I had a fight
And so I chopped the pear tree down
And burnt it, just for spite
Then with a single cartridge
I shot that blasted partridge
My true love, my true love, my true love gave to me.
The second day after Christmas
I pulled on the old rubber gloves
And very gently wrung the necks
Of both the turtle doves
My true love, my true love, my true love gave to me.
On the third day after Christmas
My mother caught the croup
I had to use the three French hens
To make some chicken soup
The four calling birds were a big mistake
For their language was obscene
The five golden rings were completely fake
and turned my fingers green.
The sixth day after Christmas
The six laying geese wouldn't lay
So I sent the whole darn gaggle to the
A.S.P.C.A.
On the seventh day, what a mess I found
The seven swans-a-swimming all had drowned
(I think there's a "my true love gave to me" in here
somewhere)
The eighth day after Christmas
Before they could suspect
I bundled up the
Eight maids-a-milking
Nine ladies dancing
Ten lords-a-leaping
Eleven pipers piping
Twelve drummers drumming - well, actually I kept one
of the drummers - And sent them back collect
I wrote my true love
"We are through, love!"
And I said in so many words
"Furthermore your Christmas gifts were for the
(Soprani) Birds!"
(Everyone else) Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves
And a partridge in a pear tree!"
This archive was generated by hypermail 2.0b3 on Mon Jan 04 1999 - 09:00:04 EST