It's never a good time not to be watching Barbie TV.

My holiday rap ya'll

Giftmasological
scientific chronicle
puttin it in focus for ya
like I was a monocle

i foresee snow,
some under tree prez
hi-res photos chouldn't show
all the happinezz

picture us
loungin on the couch
you can see up through the christmas tree
if ya crouch

my mad skills of rhymin
and mega timing
still cant define the divine kind
of fine dining we'll be finding
in our stockings
after santa comes knocking
block each other in the hall
as we go rocking
rocketing in slick socks super duper fast
last one there is still happy cuz its criss-mas

a blast of chieftans
some charlie brown and roches
what a tragedy
when its finally buenos noches...

Bad Holiday Poem

Startin it up

Good, it's not dead

Slide that defog

to the red

Purp Jug's rollin like

Santa's sled

pickin up Gifts for

Christmas

Barry's out in Rabbadabton

Rappin it up

getting things done

Tom's North West In Teaberburg

Workin' on seconds

Done with his third's

Conor's still in Serphimgrad

not quite sure about

Mom and Dad's

and Donald's up in Dinoland

Getting stoked for

Christmas

Black is in the big white chair

Blue is napping under there

Mum is raking in the back

Dad is sitting with the cat

Grump is haunting traffic lanes

Sonja's chasing aeroplanes

Gabby's still a bit too loud

Rosie's nappin in a cirrus cloud

4

5

0

9

Now

it's

night

time.

Pwom is stealin a big cookie

Cog is passed out on a book

Bowser's fighting with a wookie

Don wakes up to take a look

Snow is everywhere out there

Noone's driving anywhere

He don't remember when it is

Until he's up to do his biz

Remembers he can't cross the line

Until it's really christmastime

4

5

0

6

Now

It's

Chris

Mis!

- Show quoted text -

i smell santee

snoz is comin' early round this time of year
getting kinda chilly, air is crisp and clear
shouldn't be too long before ol' winter's here

flannely pajammies covrin' twitchy toes
fragrances of nutmeg waftin' up my nose
reachin' in the closets for the warmer clothes

whatcha think you're doin' sitting there alone
texting anna talking on a cheap cell phone
pack your bags, you're leavin' and your headin' home

good stuff'll be waiting so you betta fly
turkey an potatees and some apple pie
snuggied by a fireplace that is warm an dry

pappa's gotta a story and it don't make sense
fables 'bout a princess and some british gents
slime boys are in trouble, they ain't paid their rents

"X" it on your calendar it won't be long
santa says you been good and he can't be wrong
just to getya started you can sing this song

Bear & Crow Visit the Wise Man Comic

My Pumpkin

TOM

I picked an old spiral notebook that looked blank from the cabinet under where "the gerbil used to be" to take with me to Russia last summer. Somewhere midway through the trip I found a few doodles by Tom in a blue ballpoint pen on one of the last pages. Here they are. In case you can't tell, that card says "TOM" on it.

Sorrowful Halva

Wrote this in Russia during comics and tea. In picture see a pitiful reenactment with me and Lee.

(It's supposed to be funny yall)

Today I bought a piece of peanut halva at the market. We had it with dinner. Tonight conor is upstairs already for some reason, and I went into the fridge and took, as if from some long forgotten corner of the refrigerator of my memory, our old sesame halva, and as I did I imagined myself eating it and sobbing.

"Why are you crying?"

"It's just so good."

Bu then I thought - I think now that it was weeping for my memories of yesterday - when we didn't know today, when we didn't know the other halva. We only had sesame and were content, but today sesame has become one of two halvas, and in a way, we can never return to it again - not as it was, not as our only - not without knowing what's outside. And so now sesame halva - the same piece - is both itself and the pain of its memory.

Just as when we leave Vishny Volochok I will miss the flavor of these days - the way it feels to be stuck with nothing to do but sit around the table with a hot pot of tea carving a piece of halva, and drawing together until late. Today our life here comes closer to a sorrowful memory. Just as my memories of my brother change with each added year - each new separation from that first state - one of only one I knew, at home together as children.