'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the (noun)
Not a creature was stirring, not even a/an (noun).
The (plural noun) were tucked, all snug in their (plural noun),
While visions of (adjective) plums danced in their heads.
Then up on the (noun) there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my (noun) to see what was the matter.
It was St. Nicholas with his little (adjective) belly
That shook when he laughed like a bowl full of (plural noun).
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
And filled all the (plural noun), then turned with a jerk,
And laying his (noun) aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the (noun) he rose.
And I heard him exclaim as he (verb, past tense) out of sight,
(Adjective) Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
Millie said...
'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the fat bubble
Not a creature was stirring, not even an Applebee's appetizer.
The South Pole elves were tucked, all snug in their sparkly opaque tights,
While visions of sporked until unrecognizable plums danced in their heads.
Then up on the son's girlfriend's mother there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my twig to see what was the matter.
It was St. Nicholas with his little printer cartridge huffing belly
That shook when he laughed like a bowl full of indecent manicures.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
And filled all the low-quality chocolates, then turned with a jerk,
And laying his weird traffic look giver aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the trunk monkey he rose.
And I heard him exclaim as he spanked out of sight,
"Putrescent Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"
Heffalump said...
'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the pushy shopper
Not a creature was stirring, not even a twinkle light.
The singing chipmunks were tucked, all snug in their appetizers,
While visions of sensational plums danced in their heads.
Then up on the caroler who sings off key there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my tofurky to see what was the matter.
It was St. Nicholas with his little pine scented belly
That shook when he laughed like a bowl full of snowflakes.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
And filled all the badly wrapped gifts, then turned with a jerk,
And laying his wassail aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the animatronic reindeer he rose.
And I heard him exclaim as he borrowed out of sight,
"Glowing Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"
Thorny Tree Lady said...
'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the Honeybaked Ham
Not a creature was stirring, not even a Crayola Crayon Maker.
The snarfblats were tucked, all snug in their birthday candles,
While visions of lazy plums danced in their heads.
Then up on the gravy boat there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my chocolate covered pretzel rod to see what was the matter.
It was St. Nicholas with his little, organized to the point of OCD belly
That shook when he laughed like a bowl full of depressed Broncos fans.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
And filled all the ballet shoes, then turned with a jerk,
And laying his clementine orange aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the ball point pen he rose.
And I heard him exclaim as he freaked out of sight,
"Walking on your hands Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"
Dave said...
'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the lemon mango scented hand sanitizer
Not a creature was stirring, not even a half empty can of Sierra Mist.
The two photos of devilishly cute boys were tucked, all snug in their iPod earbuds,
While visions of tacky plums danced in their heads.
Then up on the slightly brown avocado there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my Winnie the Pooh sweatshirt to see what was the matter.
It was St. Nicholas with his little mechanical belly
That shook when he laughed like a bowl full of sweet peppers.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
And filled all the non-working heater vents, then turned with a jerk,
And laying his trashcan aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the overly flatulent cubicle neighbor he rose.
And I heard him exclaim as he charged out of sight,
"Shamefully huge Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"
FluffyChicky said...
'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the Barry White
Not a creature was stirring, not even Willie the Operatic Whale.
The busty old women were tucked, all snug in their pitifully underweight Sumo wrestler wannabes,
While visions of cry-your-eyes-out-ugly plums danced in their heads.
Then up on the headcheese sandwich there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from Queen Elizabeth’s slightly moist hanky to see what was the matter.
It was St. Nicholas with his little flamboyant belly
That shook when he laughed like a bowl full of Orville Redenbacher impersonators.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
And filled all the flabby upper arms, then turned with a jerk,
And laying his push-up bra that works a little too well aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the wilted poinsettia he rose.
And I heard him exclaim as he passed out of sight,
"Gassy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"
Klin said...
'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the presents 'round the tree
Not a creature was stirring, not even pumpkin spiced egg nog.
The excited children anxiously waiting were tucked, all snug in their favorite seasonal movies,
While visions of deliciously creamy plums danced in their heads.
Then up on the jolly round fella there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my dreams of a white Christmas to see what was the matter.
It was St. Nicholas with his little hung with care belly
That shook when he laughed like a bowl full of Christmas cards yet to be mailed.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
And filled all the Christmas lights, then turned with a jerk,
And laying his family Christmas party aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the Christmas Day he rose.
And I heard him exclaim as he had been out of sight,
"Pleasantly surprised Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"
Friday, December 25, 2009
Thursday, December 17, 2009
A Tour of Hollywood
I'm trying something new this time... tell me if you like it.
Good morning, ladies and (plural noun), boys and (plural noun). My name is (person in room). I am your personal (noun) guide. For the next six hours, we will delight in exploring romantic, (adjective) Hollywood, the glamour (noun) of the world. Let's start off with a bang and visit Mann's (adjective) Chinese Theater, Hollywood's most (adjective) tourist attraction. Etched in cement, you'll see the foot (plural noun) and the (part of body) prints of the most famous movie (plural noun) ever to adorn the (adjective) screen. Then it's only a hop, skip, and a/an (verb) to Beverly Hills, the playground of the rich and (adjective). You will feast your (part of body, plural) on the million-dollar (plural noun) of movie stars. You'll actually get to visit the home of today's hottest (noun), (person in room), who will sign autographs for the low, low sum of (number) dollars. And here's the Big One! For lunch, we'll be going to the studio commissary, where you can rub (part of body, plural) with today's leading actors and actresses. All aboard!
Millie said...
Good morning, ladies and Sam Puckett fans, boys and bulls in china closets. My name is Spencer. I am your personal creep in the public pool restroom guide. For the next six hours, we will delight in exploring romantic, dippier than usual Hollywood, the glamour cupcake filling sucker-outer of the world. Let's start off with a bang and visit Mann's Stark Naked and Unaware Chinese Theater, Hollywood's most tomato-flavored tourist attraction. Etched in cement, you'll see the foot loud-voiced gossipy old women and the digit prints of the most famous movie weekly Hometown Buffet diners ever to adorn the frequently mocked screen. Then it's only a hop, skip, and a bash over the head with a lamp to Beverly Hills, the playground of the rich and fit-throwing. You will feast your phalanges on the million-dollar funny mushrooms of movie stars. You'll actually get to visit the home of today's hottest unreachable itchy spot, Freddie, who will sign autographs for the low, low sum of 1238 dollars. And here's the Big One! For lunch, we'll be going to the studio commissary, where you can rub metatarsals with today's leading actors and actresses. All aboard!
Rachael said... (Hey, Rach!)
Good morning, ladies and one size too small socks, boys and whiney kids. My name is Pais-ma-taiz. I am your personal Christmas wrapping paper leftovers guide. For the next six hours, we will delight in exploring romantic, cold Hollywood, the glamour husband's deodorant wearer of the world. Let's start off with a bang and visit Mann's Lonely Chinese Theater, Hollywood's smallest tourist attraction. Etched in cement, you'll see the foot blown fuses and the nasal cavity prints of the most famous movie puppies ever to adorn the hard screen. Then it's only a hop, skip, and a slide to Beverly Hills, the playground of the rich and pink. You will feast your nose hairs on the million-dollar lilacs of movie stars. You'll actually get to visit the home of today's hottest Nancy blabber mouth, Bridger bug, who will sign autographs for the low, low sum of 20 trillion dollars. And here's the Big One! For lunch, we'll be going to the studio commissary, where you can rub eyelashes with today's leading actors and actresses. All aboard!
Thorny Tree Lady said...
Good morning, ladies and sugar cookies, boys and overworked and disgruntled elves. My name is Buddy The Elf. I am your personal candy cane guide. For the next six hours, we will delight in exploring romantic, twinkle-y Hollywood, the glamour Christmas Goose of the world. Let's start off with a bang and visit Mann's Pine-scented Chinese Theater, Hollywood's most excited as a kid on Christmas morning tourist attraction. Etched in cement, you'll see the foot shorted-out Christmas lights and the belly that shakes like a bowl full of jelly prints of the most famous movie frosted windowpanes ever to adorn the naughty screen. Then it's only a hop, skip, and a gift wrap to Beverly Hills, the playground of the rich and grumpy as Scrooge. You will feast your wandering eyes on the million-dollar Clark Griswald imitators of movie stars. You'll actually get to visit the home of today's hottest tattered copy of Dickens' "A Christmas Carol", Chilly, the Elf who could not love, who will sign autographs for the low, low sum of 25 dollars. And here's the Big One! For lunch, we'll be going to the studio commissary, where you can rub fingernails with today's leading actors and actresses. All aboard!
Klin said...
Good morning, ladies and Sassy's handmade chocolate truffles, boys and flashing Christmas lights. My name is Nadine Wimmer. I am your personal smelly gym bag guide. For the next six hours, we will delight in exploring romantic, shiny & bright Hollywood, the glamour Santa hat of the world. Let's start off with a bang and visit Mann's Fully Stuffed Chinese Theater, Hollywood's most hung with care tourist attraction. Etched in cement, you'll see the foot ballet dancers and the hip joint prints of the most famous movie puppy kisses ever to adorn the crispy screen. Then it's only a hop, skip, and a shop to Beverly Hills, the playground of the rich and sugared. You will feast your cleavage on the million-dollar Christmas presents of movie stars. You'll actually get to visit the home of today's hottest moolah, Richard Piatt, who will sign autographs for the low, low sum of 900 dollars. And here's the Big One! For lunch, we'll be going to the studio commissary, where you can rub (part of body, plural) with today's leading actors and actresses. All aboard!
FluffyChicky said...
Good morning, ladies and Martin Scorsese’s eyebrow shavings, boys and skanky fishnet stockings. My name is Bowler Hat Guy. I am your personal Aunt Wanda’s wooden hand that she carved herself guide. For the next six hours, we will delight in exploring romantic, smutty Hollywood, the glamour white mouse with a brown patch over one eye and one brown leg of the world. Let's start off with a bang and visit Mann's Deranged Chinese Theater, Hollywood's most superlative tourist attraction. Etched in cement, you'll see the foot cases of pea soup and the intestinal tract prints of the most famous movie navy beans ever to adorn the disappointing screen. Then it's only a hop, skip, and a schlep to Beverly Hills, the playground of the rich and secretive. You will feast your breast implants on the million-dollar naughty nuns of movie stars. You'll actually get to visit the home of today's hottest Ministry of Silly Walks, Prissy Kissy-Bottom-Smythe, who will sign autographs for the low, low sum of 7 dollars. And here's the Big One! For lunch, we'll be going to the studio commissary, where you can rub ear canals filled with wax and dead flies and other nasty things with today's leading actors and actresses. All aboard!
Dave said...
Good morning, ladies and ROUSs, boys and masks. My name is Humperdink. I am your personal Pit of Despair guide. For the next six hours, we will delight in exploring romantic, dreadful Hollywood, the glamour miracle pill of the world. Let's start off with a bang and visit Mann's Filthy Chinese Theater, Hollywood's most swamped tourist attraction. Etched in cement, you'll see the foot holocaust cloaks and the left hand prints of the most famous movie swords ever to adorn the drunk screen. Then it's only a hop, skip, and a frame to Beverly Hills, the playground of the rich and fiery. You will feast your legs on the million-dollar pirates of movie stars. You'll actually get to visit the home of today's hottest putrescence, Westly, who will sign autographs for the low, low sum of 100 dollars. And here's the Big One! For lunch, we'll be going to the studio commissary, where you can rub eyes with today's leading actors and actresses. All aboard!
Good morning, ladies and (plural noun), boys and (plural noun). My name is (person in room). I am your personal (noun) guide. For the next six hours, we will delight in exploring romantic, (adjective) Hollywood, the glamour (noun) of the world. Let's start off with a bang and visit Mann's (adjective) Chinese Theater, Hollywood's most (adjective) tourist attraction. Etched in cement, you'll see the foot (plural noun) and the (part of body) prints of the most famous movie (plural noun) ever to adorn the (adjective) screen. Then it's only a hop, skip, and a/an (verb) to Beverly Hills, the playground of the rich and (adjective). You will feast your (part of body, plural) on the million-dollar (plural noun) of movie stars. You'll actually get to visit the home of today's hottest (noun), (person in room), who will sign autographs for the low, low sum of (number) dollars. And here's the Big One! For lunch, we'll be going to the studio commissary, where you can rub (part of body, plural) with today's leading actors and actresses. All aboard!
Millie said...
Good morning, ladies and Sam Puckett fans, boys and bulls in china closets. My name is Spencer. I am your personal creep in the public pool restroom guide. For the next six hours, we will delight in exploring romantic, dippier than usual Hollywood, the glamour cupcake filling sucker-outer of the world. Let's start off with a bang and visit Mann's Stark Naked and Unaware Chinese Theater, Hollywood's most tomato-flavored tourist attraction. Etched in cement, you'll see the foot loud-voiced gossipy old women and the digit prints of the most famous movie weekly Hometown Buffet diners ever to adorn the frequently mocked screen. Then it's only a hop, skip, and a bash over the head with a lamp to Beverly Hills, the playground of the rich and fit-throwing. You will feast your phalanges on the million-dollar funny mushrooms of movie stars. You'll actually get to visit the home of today's hottest unreachable itchy spot, Freddie, who will sign autographs for the low, low sum of 1238 dollars. And here's the Big One! For lunch, we'll be going to the studio commissary, where you can rub metatarsals with today's leading actors and actresses. All aboard!
Rachael said... (Hey, Rach!)
Good morning, ladies and one size too small socks, boys and whiney kids. My name is Pais-ma-taiz. I am your personal Christmas wrapping paper leftovers guide. For the next six hours, we will delight in exploring romantic, cold Hollywood, the glamour husband's deodorant wearer of the world. Let's start off with a bang and visit Mann's Lonely Chinese Theater, Hollywood's smallest tourist attraction. Etched in cement, you'll see the foot blown fuses and the nasal cavity prints of the most famous movie puppies ever to adorn the hard screen. Then it's only a hop, skip, and a slide to Beverly Hills, the playground of the rich and pink. You will feast your nose hairs on the million-dollar lilacs of movie stars. You'll actually get to visit the home of today's hottest Nancy blabber mouth, Bridger bug, who will sign autographs for the low, low sum of 20 trillion dollars. And here's the Big One! For lunch, we'll be going to the studio commissary, where you can rub eyelashes with today's leading actors and actresses. All aboard!
Thorny Tree Lady said...
Good morning, ladies and sugar cookies, boys and overworked and disgruntled elves. My name is Buddy The Elf. I am your personal candy cane guide. For the next six hours, we will delight in exploring romantic, twinkle-y Hollywood, the glamour Christmas Goose of the world. Let's start off with a bang and visit Mann's Pine-scented Chinese Theater, Hollywood's most excited as a kid on Christmas morning tourist attraction. Etched in cement, you'll see the foot shorted-out Christmas lights and the belly that shakes like a bowl full of jelly prints of the most famous movie frosted windowpanes ever to adorn the naughty screen. Then it's only a hop, skip, and a gift wrap to Beverly Hills, the playground of the rich and grumpy as Scrooge. You will feast your wandering eyes on the million-dollar Clark Griswald imitators of movie stars. You'll actually get to visit the home of today's hottest tattered copy of Dickens' "A Christmas Carol", Chilly, the Elf who could not love, who will sign autographs for the low, low sum of 25 dollars. And here's the Big One! For lunch, we'll be going to the studio commissary, where you can rub fingernails with today's leading actors and actresses. All aboard!
Klin said...
Good morning, ladies and Sassy's handmade chocolate truffles, boys and flashing Christmas lights. My name is Nadine Wimmer. I am your personal smelly gym bag guide. For the next six hours, we will delight in exploring romantic, shiny & bright Hollywood, the glamour Santa hat of the world. Let's start off with a bang and visit Mann's Fully Stuffed Chinese Theater, Hollywood's most hung with care tourist attraction. Etched in cement, you'll see the foot ballet dancers and the hip joint prints of the most famous movie puppy kisses ever to adorn the crispy screen. Then it's only a hop, skip, and a shop to Beverly Hills, the playground of the rich and sugared. You will feast your cleavage on the million-dollar Christmas presents of movie stars. You'll actually get to visit the home of today's hottest moolah, Richard Piatt, who will sign autographs for the low, low sum of 900 dollars. And here's the Big One! For lunch, we'll be going to the studio commissary, where you can rub (part of body, plural) with today's leading actors and actresses. All aboard!
FluffyChicky said...
Good morning, ladies and Martin Scorsese’s eyebrow shavings, boys and skanky fishnet stockings. My name is Bowler Hat Guy. I am your personal Aunt Wanda’s wooden hand that she carved herself guide. For the next six hours, we will delight in exploring romantic, smutty Hollywood, the glamour white mouse with a brown patch over one eye and one brown leg of the world. Let's start off with a bang and visit Mann's Deranged Chinese Theater, Hollywood's most superlative tourist attraction. Etched in cement, you'll see the foot cases of pea soup and the intestinal tract prints of the most famous movie navy beans ever to adorn the disappointing screen. Then it's only a hop, skip, and a schlep to Beverly Hills, the playground of the rich and secretive. You will feast your breast implants on the million-dollar naughty nuns of movie stars. You'll actually get to visit the home of today's hottest Ministry of Silly Walks, Prissy Kissy-Bottom-Smythe, who will sign autographs for the low, low sum of 7 dollars. And here's the Big One! For lunch, we'll be going to the studio commissary, where you can rub ear canals filled with wax and dead flies and other nasty things with today's leading actors and actresses. All aboard!
Dave said...
Good morning, ladies and ROUSs, boys and masks. My name is Humperdink. I am your personal Pit of Despair guide. For the next six hours, we will delight in exploring romantic, dreadful Hollywood, the glamour miracle pill of the world. Let's start off with a bang and visit Mann's Filthy Chinese Theater, Hollywood's most swamped tourist attraction. Etched in cement, you'll see the foot holocaust cloaks and the left hand prints of the most famous movie swords ever to adorn the drunk screen. Then it's only a hop, skip, and a frame to Beverly Hills, the playground of the rich and fiery. You will feast your legs on the million-dollar pirates of movie stars. You'll actually get to visit the home of today's hottest putrescence, Westly, who will sign autographs for the low, low sum of 100 dollars. And here's the Big One! For lunch, we'll be going to the studio commissary, where you can rub eyes with today's leading actors and actresses. All aboard!
Friday, December 11, 2009
Bringing Home the Good - Or Is It Bad? - News
Dear Parent,
Here is (person in room)'s report card for the (adjective) eighth grade. He/she has received a/an (letter of the alphabet) in English, a/an (letter of the alphabet) in Mathematics, and an "A" in Social (plural noun). Unfortunately, we could not give a passing (noun) in (noun) Education because his/her broken (part of body) prevented the taking of the final (noun). This (adjective) class can be made up in our summer (noun). The school believes a "parent-(noun) conference" is necessary to discuss (same person)'s (adjective) behavior. He/She continues to draw (adjective) pictures on the bathroom (noun) and talks (adverb) behind the teacher's (part of body). Please call the principal's (noun) for a/an (adjective) appointment immediately.
Sincerely,
Ms. (last name of another person in room)
Head (occupation)
Millie said...
Dear Parent,
Here is Scuzzlebutt's report card for the icicle-growing eighth grade. He has received an "I" in English, a "W" in Mathematics, and an "A" in Social Wayward Sheep. Unfortunately, we could not give a passing diphthong in Anty Pepsi Bottle Education because his broken knuckle hair prevented the taking of the final tooth grunge. This square and brown class can be made up in our summer huge Cannery can. The school believes a "parent-hungry five-year-old who won't come to the kitchen but prefers to whine instead conference" is necessary to discuss Scuzzlebutt's inexplicably barking behavior. He continues to draw writhing around the Christmas tree pictures on the bathroom Red Bull and talks squawkingly behind the teacher's upper lip fuzz. Please call the principal's crunchy washcloth left to drip dry on the tub rail for a perfunctory appointment immediately.
Sincerely,
Ms. Pencilsniffer
Head Drool Wiper
Suzanne said...
Dear Parent,
Here is Santa's report card for the jolly eighth grade. He has received an "H" in English, an "O" in Mathematics, and an "A" in Social Chimneys. Unfortunately, we could not give a passing present in Ornament Education because his broken tire ring waist prevented the taking of the final stocking. This rosy class can be made up in our summer star. The school believes a "parent-cookie conference" is necessary to discuss Santa's red behavior. He continues to draw cold pictures on the bathroom eggnog and talks happily behind the teacher's flabby thighs. Please call the principal's fat pants for a fat appointment immediately.
Sincerely,
Ms. Claus
Head Deliverer of Happiness
Thorny Tree Lady said...
Dear Parent,
Here is Dancing With the Stars Season 9 Champ, Donny Osmond's, report card for the shrivelled-up eighth grade. He has received an "S" in English, an "M" in Mathematics, and an "A" in Social Candy Canes. Unfortunately, we could not give a passing Santa's Workshop in Fine-Toothed Comb Education because his broken pinky toe prevented the taking of the final frayed toothbrush. This hard as a rock class can be made up in our summer broken Wii console with pennies in it. The school believes a "parent-ice cold water bottle conference" is necessary to discuss Donny's sparkly as Edward behavior. He continues to draw odiferous pictures on the bathroom Advent calendar and talks painstakingly behind the teacher's kneecap. Please call the principal's Katie Couric impersonator for a heartburn-inducing appointment immediately.
Sincerely,
Ms. Rockafeller
Head Cartoon Colorist
Klin said...
Dear Parent,
Here is Lazy Lion's report card for the shiny & bright eighth grade. He has received an "A" in English, a "Z" in Mathematics, and an "A" in Social Piles of Shoveled Snow. Unfortunately, we could not give a passing snowflake in Snowball Education because his broken skin between the toes prevented the taking of the final snow shovel. This cozy fire like class can be made up in our summer snow plow. The school believes a "parent-snow coat conference" is necessary to discuss Lazy's entitled behavior. He continues to draw icy pictures on the bathroom snow boots and talks crumbily behind the teacher's broken nail. Please call the principal's snow for a freezing appointment immediately.
Sincerely,
Ms. Maggilicutty
Head Meteorologist
FluffyChicky said...
Dear Parent,
Here is Jerry Sizzler's report card for the slimy eighth grade. He has received a "Q" in English, a "T" in Mathematics, and an "A" in Social Ten Lords a-Leaping. Unfortunately, we could not give a passing Little Orphan Annie in 8-track of “MacArthur Park” as recorded by the late Richard Harris Education because his broken clavicle prevented the taking of the final bootleg copy of 7 Brides for 7 Brothers. This smelly class can be made up in our summer raging case of dandruff. The school believes a "parent-spastic flatulence conference" is necessary to discuss Jerry's spastic behavior. He continues to draw snide pictures on the bathroom HMS Pinafore performed entirely in Ig-Pay Atin-Lay, and talks saucily behind the teacher's unibrow. Please call the principal's reindeer droppings for a superfluous appointment immediately.
Sincerely,
Ms. McCheapPants
Head IRS Auditor
Dave said...
Dear Parent,
Here is Admiral Ackbar's report card for the Jedi-like eighth grade. He has received an "F" in English, a "U" in Mathematics, and an "A" in Social Power Converters. Unfortunately, we could not give a passing lightsaber in Blaster Education because his broken Midi-chlorians prevented the taking of the final protocol droid. This emotionless class can be made up in our summer Jedi mind trick. The school believes a "parent-nerf-herder conference" is necessary to discuss Admiral Ackbar's droid-free behavior. He continues to draw "Empire" covered pictures on the bathroom Death Star and talks fuzzily behind the teacher's hand. Please call the principal's bounty hunter for a roguish appointment immediately.
Sincerely,
Ms. Skywalker
Head Sith Lord
Here is (person in room)'s report card for the (adjective) eighth grade. He/she has received a/an (letter of the alphabet) in English, a/an (letter of the alphabet) in Mathematics, and an "A" in Social (plural noun). Unfortunately, we could not give a passing (noun) in (noun) Education because his/her broken (part of body) prevented the taking of the final (noun). This (adjective) class can be made up in our summer (noun). The school believes a "parent-(noun) conference" is necessary to discuss (same person)'s (adjective) behavior. He/She continues to draw (adjective) pictures on the bathroom (noun) and talks (adverb) behind the teacher's (part of body). Please call the principal's (noun) for a/an (adjective) appointment immediately.
Sincerely,
Ms. (last name of another person in room)
Head (occupation)
Millie said...
Dear Parent,
Here is Scuzzlebutt's report card for the icicle-growing eighth grade. He has received an "I" in English, a "W" in Mathematics, and an "A" in Social Wayward Sheep. Unfortunately, we could not give a passing diphthong in Anty Pepsi Bottle Education because his broken knuckle hair prevented the taking of the final tooth grunge. This square and brown class can be made up in our summer huge Cannery can. The school believes a "parent-hungry five-year-old who won't come to the kitchen but prefers to whine instead conference" is necessary to discuss Scuzzlebutt's inexplicably barking behavior. He continues to draw writhing around the Christmas tree pictures on the bathroom Red Bull and talks squawkingly behind the teacher's upper lip fuzz. Please call the principal's crunchy washcloth left to drip dry on the tub rail for a perfunctory appointment immediately.
Sincerely,
Ms. Pencilsniffer
Head Drool Wiper
Suzanne said...
Dear Parent,
Here is Santa's report card for the jolly eighth grade. He has received an "H" in English, an "O" in Mathematics, and an "A" in Social Chimneys. Unfortunately, we could not give a passing present in Ornament Education because his broken tire ring waist prevented the taking of the final stocking. This rosy class can be made up in our summer star. The school believes a "parent-cookie conference" is necessary to discuss Santa's red behavior. He continues to draw cold pictures on the bathroom eggnog and talks happily behind the teacher's flabby thighs. Please call the principal's fat pants for a fat appointment immediately.
Sincerely,
Ms. Claus
Head Deliverer of Happiness
Thorny Tree Lady said...
Dear Parent,
Here is Dancing With the Stars Season 9 Champ, Donny Osmond's, report card for the shrivelled-up eighth grade. He has received an "S" in English, an "M" in Mathematics, and an "A" in Social Candy Canes. Unfortunately, we could not give a passing Santa's Workshop in Fine-Toothed Comb Education because his broken pinky toe prevented the taking of the final frayed toothbrush. This hard as a rock class can be made up in our summer broken Wii console with pennies in it. The school believes a "parent-ice cold water bottle conference" is necessary to discuss Donny's sparkly as Edward behavior. He continues to draw odiferous pictures on the bathroom Advent calendar and talks painstakingly behind the teacher's kneecap. Please call the principal's Katie Couric impersonator for a heartburn-inducing appointment immediately.
Sincerely,
Ms. Rockafeller
Head Cartoon Colorist
Klin said...
Dear Parent,
Here is Lazy Lion's report card for the shiny & bright eighth grade. He has received an "A" in English, a "Z" in Mathematics, and an "A" in Social Piles of Shoveled Snow. Unfortunately, we could not give a passing snowflake in Snowball Education because his broken skin between the toes prevented the taking of the final snow shovel. This cozy fire like class can be made up in our summer snow plow. The school believes a "parent-snow coat conference" is necessary to discuss Lazy's entitled behavior. He continues to draw icy pictures on the bathroom snow boots and talks crumbily behind the teacher's broken nail. Please call the principal's snow for a freezing appointment immediately.
Sincerely,
Ms. Maggilicutty
Head Meteorologist
FluffyChicky said...
Dear Parent,
Here is Jerry Sizzler's report card for the slimy eighth grade. He has received a "Q" in English, a "T" in Mathematics, and an "A" in Social Ten Lords a-Leaping. Unfortunately, we could not give a passing Little Orphan Annie in 8-track of “MacArthur Park” as recorded by the late Richard Harris Education because his broken clavicle prevented the taking of the final bootleg copy of 7 Brides for 7 Brothers. This smelly class can be made up in our summer raging case of dandruff. The school believes a "parent-spastic flatulence conference" is necessary to discuss Jerry's spastic behavior. He continues to draw snide pictures on the bathroom HMS Pinafore performed entirely in Ig-Pay Atin-Lay, and talks saucily behind the teacher's unibrow. Please call the principal's reindeer droppings for a superfluous appointment immediately.
Sincerely,
Ms. McCheapPants
Head IRS Auditor
Dave said...
Dear Parent,
Here is Admiral Ackbar's report card for the Jedi-like eighth grade. He has received an "F" in English, a "U" in Mathematics, and an "A" in Social Power Converters. Unfortunately, we could not give a passing lightsaber in Blaster Education because his broken Midi-chlorians prevented the taking of the final protocol droid. This emotionless class can be made up in our summer Jedi mind trick. The school believes a "parent-nerf-herder conference" is necessary to discuss Admiral Ackbar's droid-free behavior. He continues to draw "Empire" covered pictures on the bathroom Death Star and talks fuzzily behind the teacher's hand. Please call the principal's bounty hunter for a roguish appointment immediately.
Sincerely,
Ms. Skywalker
Head Sith Lord
Friday, December 4, 2009
Advice Column
Dear (girl's first name),
My (adjective) daughter, who is only (number) years old, wants to wear a mini (noun) with a bare (noun). She claims all the other (plural noun) her age are (verb ending in ING) them. What to do?
Signed: An Anxious (noun)
Dear "Anxious,"
Take my advice and ground your daughter for (number) days.
Dear (same girl's first name),
My oldest (noun) is a/an (adjective) slob. As often as I try, I can never get him to wash his (noun), brush his (plural noun), or comb his (noun) before going to school. He also (adverb) refuses to take a bath or a/an (noun), clean up his (noun), or make up the very (noun) he sleeps in. How can I (verb)?
Signed: A/An (adjective) Mother
Dear "Mother,"
You better clean that (noun) up before he turns into a filthy ball of (noun).
Millie said...
Dear Stinkwafta,
My impregnable daughter, who is only 237 years old, wants to wear a mini Who from Whoville with a bare explosively tempting paper cut. She claims all the other Mentos her age are pie crust-ruining them. What to do?
Signed: An Anxious Hannah Montana lunchbox
Dear "Anxious,"
Take my advice and ground your daughter for 8 days.
Dear Stinkwafta,
My oldest caked Oreo on a car window is a difficult to control slob. As often as I try, I can never get him to wash his harpist, brush his hot drummers you'd become a groupie for, or comb his newborn baby smell before going to school. He also foot-stompingly refuses to take a bath or a Black Friday avoider, clean up his involuntary eyelid twitch, or make up the very hairball he sleeps in. How can I skulk?
Signed: A chocolate-smeared Mother
Dear "Mother,"
You better clean that soulless monkey-like Mafia goon up before he turns into a filthy ball of cranberry sauce drip.
Dave said...
Dear Sam,
My super daughter, who is only eighty-eight years old, wants to wear a mini timeline with a bare timecard. She claims all the other candies her age are contemplating them. What to do?
Signed: An Anxious Typewriter
Dear "Anxious,"
Take my advice and ground your daughter for eleventy days.
Dear Sam,
My oldest typeset is a soupy slob. As often as I try, I can never get him to wash his tornado, brush his carrots, or comb his torn-up tollbooth ticket before going to school. He also erroneously refuses to take a bath or a tuber, clean up his Trinidad-Tobago, or make up the very tire tube he sleeps in. How can I strain?
Signed: A supernatural Mother
Dear "Mother,"
You better clean that tired teleprompter up before he turns into a filthy ball of ticker tape.
Heffalump said...
Dear Gertrude,
My fluffy daughter, who is only 17 years old, wants to wear a mini partridge with a bare pear tree. She claims all the other drummers her age are singing them. What to do?
Signed: An Anxious turtledove
Dear "Anxious,"
Take my advice and ground your daughter for 3463 days.
Dear Gertrude,
My oldest French hen is a grotesque slob. As often as I try, I can never get him to wash his swan, brush his pipers, or comb his goose before going to school. He also vigorously refuses to take a bath or a golden ring, clean up his calling bird, or make up the very milk-maid he sleeps in. How can I give?
Signed: A mustard yellow Mother
Dear "Mother,"
You better clean that dancing lady up before he turns into a filthy ball of Leaping Lord.
My (adjective) daughter, who is only (number) years old, wants to wear a mini (noun) with a bare (noun). She claims all the other (plural noun) her age are (verb ending in ING) them. What to do?
Signed: An Anxious (noun)
Dear "Anxious,"
Take my advice and ground your daughter for (number) days.
Dear (same girl's first name),
My oldest (noun) is a/an (adjective) slob. As often as I try, I can never get him to wash his (noun), brush his (plural noun), or comb his (noun) before going to school. He also (adverb) refuses to take a bath or a/an (noun), clean up his (noun), or make up the very (noun) he sleeps in. How can I (verb)?
Signed: A/An (adjective) Mother
Dear "Mother,"
You better clean that (noun) up before he turns into a filthy ball of (noun).
Millie said...
Dear Stinkwafta,
My impregnable daughter, who is only 237 years old, wants to wear a mini Who from Whoville with a bare explosively tempting paper cut. She claims all the other Mentos her age are pie crust-ruining them. What to do?
Signed: An Anxious Hannah Montana lunchbox
Dear "Anxious,"
Take my advice and ground your daughter for 8 days.
Dear Stinkwafta,
My oldest caked Oreo on a car window is a difficult to control slob. As often as I try, I can never get him to wash his harpist, brush his hot drummers you'd become a groupie for, or comb his newborn baby smell before going to school. He also foot-stompingly refuses to take a bath or a Black Friday avoider, clean up his involuntary eyelid twitch, or make up the very hairball he sleeps in. How can I skulk?
Signed: A chocolate-smeared Mother
Dear "Mother,"
You better clean that soulless monkey-like Mafia goon up before he turns into a filthy ball of cranberry sauce drip.
Dave said...
Dear Sam,
My super daughter, who is only eighty-eight years old, wants to wear a mini timeline with a bare timecard. She claims all the other candies her age are contemplating them. What to do?
Signed: An Anxious Typewriter
Dear "Anxious,"
Take my advice and ground your daughter for eleventy days.
Dear Sam,
My oldest typeset is a soupy slob. As often as I try, I can never get him to wash his tornado, brush his carrots, or comb his torn-up tollbooth ticket before going to school. He also erroneously refuses to take a bath or a tuber, clean up his Trinidad-Tobago, or make up the very tire tube he sleeps in. How can I strain?
Signed: A supernatural Mother
Dear "Mother,"
You better clean that tired teleprompter up before he turns into a filthy ball of ticker tape.
Heffalump said...
Dear Gertrude,
My fluffy daughter, who is only 17 years old, wants to wear a mini partridge with a bare pear tree. She claims all the other drummers her age are singing them. What to do?
Signed: An Anxious turtledove
Dear "Anxious,"
Take my advice and ground your daughter for 3463 days.
Dear Gertrude,
My oldest French hen is a grotesque slob. As often as I try, I can never get him to wash his swan, brush his pipers, or comb his goose before going to school. He also vigorously refuses to take a bath or a golden ring, clean up his calling bird, or make up the very milk-maid he sleeps in. How can I give?
Signed: A mustard yellow Mother
Dear "Mother,"
You better clean that dancing lady up before he turns into a filthy ball of Leaping Lord.
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