November 2009
2 posts
Hearth Gods, No. XXIII
Saturday, Dec. 5, 9pm
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POET: It's that time of year. The rats are singing
The servants are nailing up the tinsel
The air is pregnant with religious feeling--
BEER: WHERE IS MY EGGGNOG?
POET: Right here. Under the, uh...the mistletoe.
[ They lock eyes. ]
BEER: YOU POET -- YOU HAVE MY HEART
POET: You have an eggnog mustache.
