The Robert’s “Night before Thanksgiving”
Twas the night before Thanksgiving, and all through the kitchen,
The Sweety was stirring, cooking, baking, and, boy, was she bitchin’.
And all of the oven gloves hung neatly along the wall,
Holes in every one, the Sweety burned fingers, not one but all.
And The Robert and The Daughter comfy in front of TV
Heard all the pots and pans rattle, though impossible to see
The Sweety in her apron, wrestling stuffing into the turkey;
The Daughter worried, but The Robert said,”Just let her be.”
When out from the kitchen came such a clatter,
The Robert and The Daughter ran to see what was the matter.
Into the kitchen they flew on their feet;
Once there, nearly fainting, from all of the heat.
Turkey on the breasts of the poor fallen Sweety;
Father and daughter scared there’d be no turkey to eaty.
When what to their hungry eyes did appear,
Refrigerator, hung open, revealed a six pack of beer.
Not Bud, but Coor’s Lite, glistening with dew,
Gave luster to the cans, all very brand new.
And what else to their gleeful eyes did appear?
A shelf of leftover pizza to go with the beer.
“Help me,” The Sweety called, maybe angry, just a bit;
So they raised her from the floor, what the turkey just hit.
More rapid than Nascar, we scooped up the gore:
Giblets and turkey rescued from the floor.
“Now Robert! Now Jennifer! Get out!” The Sweety said.
The look on her face gave them plenty to dread.
Her lips were drawn, her eyes twinkling madly,
And she threw the carving knife at The Robert, but aimed very badly.
The blade flew into the refrigerator and pierced deep into a can
Of Coor’s Lite, and suds bubbled and sprayed into the eyes of the man.
The Robert grabbed for the beer and was turning around,
When down on his head came the turkey’s twenty pounds.
Stuffings and turkey parts slid from The Robert’s head to his feet,
But he held tightly the beer and staggered back to his seat.
And The Sweety exclaimed as The Robert strolled out of sight,
“Cook the turkey yourself! I’m done for the night!
The Robert spoke not a word, draining the stabbed beer into a glass,
Knowing the pizza must wait ‘till The Sweety’s anger passed.
And mother and daughter teamed to salvage the bird,
Cleaning and stuffing and placed in the oven without speaking a word.
Mother and daughter nodded, quite proud of their work,
Then glared at The Robert from the kitchen and mouthed the word “jerk”.
And, after raising middle fingers close to The Robert’s nose,
The Sweety and The Daughter, up the staircase they rose.
And he heard The Sweety exclaim as she climbed out of sight,
“Enjoy the couch, Robert, it’s your bed tonight.”