Well, dear readers, even though we’re not counting down, has anyone noticed that Christmas is but a mere six days from now? I, of course, have not bought one single present, although I have been sending out Christmas cards. I shall have to get off my butt cheeks and go a’shopping butt soon.
On the first day of Christmas
My true love sent to me
A Partridge in a Pear Tree.
What does that mean? Why would my true love give me a Partridge? And which Partridge? Keith? Laurie? Shirley? And what’s with the Pear Tree? My true love went and unearthed a Pear Tree and brought it to me in a truck? What kind of true love is this? She couldn’t buy a wallet? She couldn’t buy socks? Well, dear readers, here I sit, like so much fish, pondering the imponderables as always. I would just like to know what the hell my true love was thinking, frankly. And that wasn’t all my true love bought me. But to find out what else my fershluganah true love bought me, you’ll just have to click on the Unseemly Button below.
Apparently, my true love couldn’t just stop with the partridge in a pear tree. Noooooo, after the Partridge and Pear Tree, she suddenly unloaded three French hens on me. Now, I don’t know about you, dear readers, but one French hen is more than I need. If I’m going to have multiple hens I want them to be Swedish. When you have three French hens all they do is sit around all day and say “Oui”. At least Swedish hens say interesting and profound things like “Da henska iska profundska”. And ten Lords a-leaping? I can’t even go there. Have you ever seen ten leaping Lords? Between the three French hens and the ten leaping Lords you’ve got a cabaret act. My true love is an odd duck, and frankly I’m surprised she didn’t send me one of those. Anyway, just when I think I’m finally safe, my true love shows up with six geese a-laying. What kind of present is that? Six geese getting it on. This is a gift? Six sex-craved geese, can you even imagine it? I didn’t have to imagine it because my true love gave me the shtupping geese. What the hell am I talking about? Shouldn’t we be discussing how someone like my close personal friend, Mr. Stephen Sondheim, will be spending his Christmas? I just sent him his gift, actually. Four calling birds. These birds come with their own calling cards and you can have them call whoever you want. Isn’t that a great present? How come my true love didn’t give me four calling birds? I had to get the ten Lords a-leaping, three French hens and some horny geese.
Wow, I was on a roll (no mean feat), wasn’t I? I just kept going, long after others would have called it a day. Have you ever called “it” a “day” and why would you? “It” gets very angry when called a “day”, so let’s just knock it off with the calling it a day. Excuse me for a minute.
Well, you won’t believe it. A messenger just delivered eight maids a-milking. That is the last straw! I am calling my true love and telling my true love to knock it off, and then, of course, I will go and buy some more straws. What am I supposed to do with these eight maids a-milking? I hate milk. If these eight maids were a-Diet Coking that would be a different story altogether.
Soon I must run off to an actual recording session where an actual recording is being made by my actual friend, Miss Lisa Richard, who is doing her second actual CD for LML Records. I am going to said recording session because Miss Lisa Richard is singing a song penned by the actual me. Yes, you heard it here, dear readers, Miss Lisa Richard is singing a song penned by me. The song is entitled When You’re Waiting For Love. Miss Lisa Richard asked me to be there, to make sure I’m happy with the tempos. I’m quite certain I’ll be happy with the tempos, because, to the best of my knowledge, the tempos never did me any dirt, which is more than I can say for certain others over the years. Here is the first chorus of the song (just so you have an inkling – which, of course, is better than having a penciling):
Why does Mr. Right,
Always turn out wrong?
How can someone sweet and gentle
Always end up being mental
Or the second cousin of King Kong?
Ah, well, who knows,
Well, I suppose
When you’re waiting for love
That’s just how it goes.
There, now you have an inkling. Excuse me for a moment. The doorbell is ringing.
Well, you won’t believe it. There were just eleven pipers piping out on my front porch. Just standing there piping away like the piping zealots they apparently are. And you just have to stand there until they’re through or these eleven pipers give you a dirty look. Luckily they finished their piping and are now annoying someone else.
Thanks to all who have sent e-mails regarding yesterday’s query about the radio show. Lots of good suggestions, but what came through clearly is that you loyal and true Hainsies like the radio show very much, and that makes both Donald Feltham and I very happy indeed. He’s got some great shows lined up, so keep a’listening.
Well, dear readers, it’s a real madhouse around here, and all thanks to my true love. I’ve got pipers piping, maids a-milking and geese a-laying, not to mention five golden rings that I can’t figure out what to do with. I’ve got three hens who will only talk in their native French tongue, and to top it all off I’ve now got two turtle doves (like one turtle dove isn’t enough). How did it happen that a turtle and a dove became one? They are horrible mutants, these turtle doves; half bird, half slow crawling reptile. They give me the creeps, these mutant turtle doves do. Wait, the doorbell is ringing again. Excuse me for a moment.
Well, that tears it. I now have seven swans a-swimming at my front door. This is very incongruous as there is no pool at my front door. There are seven swans just sitting on the ground pretending they’re swimming. These seven swans are delusional, clearly, and soon they will be taken to a special hospital where they will be put in padded cells. There, they will pretend to swim all the livelong day.
Well, the livelong day is a’calling me, so I shall be back here at haineshisway.com bright and early tomorrow. Holy moley, will someone please tell these damn ten Lords to stop leaping?