TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS…by Me.
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even Ridge-that louse;
The stocks were shredded by the chimney with care,
In hopes that a good corporate lawyer soon would be there;
The Forrester's were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of tacky lingerie danced in their heads;
And Stephanie in her pantsuit, and Eric alone in bed,
Had just realized the gravity of what Storm had said,
When out on the grounds there arose such a clatter,
Brooke jumped off Ridge to see what was the matter.
Away to the window she flew in the nude,
Tore open the drapes and soured the mood.
The moon on the breast of her sister Donna below
Gave the sleazy luster of porn that made Ridge say "Whoa!",
Across town, as Brad wonders about low rating factors,
There appears a stretch limo, and eight forgotten actors,
With a salty looking driver, so depressed and sick,
Brad knew in a moment it must be sailor Nick.
More rabid than dogs his actors they came,
As he swigged his beer, shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Dante! now, Kristen! now, Deacon and Rick!
On, Sally! on Mojo! on, Thomas and Mark!
To the door of Brad Bell! Paychecks for you all !
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As characters with no good stories or hope,
We see them rarely and usually at the end of their rope,
So up to the offices the actors they flew,
With the limo full of unpaid bills, and sailor Nick, too.
And then, after tinkling, Brad heard all about
The whining and crying of each little mouth.
As he drew in his hand, and was turning around,
Down the hallway sailor Nick came rumbling down.
He was dressed pretty badly, from his head to his foot,
His clothes were goofy…they should have stayed put;
A black pea-coat he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a psycho about to blow his stack.
His eyes -- how they glared! his dimples how scary!
His cheeks were like leather, his breath like dry sherry!
His snarling mouth was drawn down like a bow,
And his demeanor anything but mellow;
The stump of his cigar he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a tanned face and hardly a belly,
And hung out on a boat that was always a bit smelly.
He was angry and alone, a good man turned sad,
For Brooke had done him so very bad;
A new course to plot and Taylor working on his head,
He soon felt he had nothing to dread;
He lost her to a slug who is a real piece of work,
Once his half-brother, then turned into a jerk,
She picked a man who treats all women like ho's.
Now on to find a new woman to warm his toes;
He ran out of the office, and got back in the car,
Everyone screamed 'On to Chuck's Bar!'
But Brad heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Hey Brad…'07 is coming soon and you better get it right."
Next week…the Worst of 2007 to be posted Friday as I am taking off for the Christmas weekend.
It is my sincere wish for all that read my column each week throughout the year that you all have a happy and safe Holiday season! Many, many thanks for your support!