'Twas the night before Christmas, while I was getting soused
Not a movie was playing, not even Animal House;
Smoke from spec screenplays went up the chimney like flares,
Because it's all remakes now and no one really cares;
Studio moguls were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of bonus checks danced in their heads;
And Oscar season promising only pretentious crap,
I was bedding down for a long winter's nap,
Then from my DVD player there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the den I ran like the Flash,
Tripped on a rug and had a bad crash.
The room around me spun around really slow
Cause my over-sized head took an over-sized blow,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But old Michael Bay, and an eight pack of beer,
I said Trans-2 couldn't sell me a ticket,
He said "screw you I'm rich," and then told me to stick it.
After Bay left the studios, they came,
An Executive whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Paramount! now, Warners! now, Disney and Pixar!
On, Sony! on Uni! even, Summit and Dreamworks!
To the top of the heap! to the top of the wall!
Hide cash away! cash away! cash away all!"
As dry heaves that come before the wild vomiting fly,
When they meet with an audit, they run your legal bills high,
So up to the house-top the studios they flew,
With the sleigh full of movies, and that Executive too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The cheap excuses and buck passing of that little goof.
As I collected my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney the Executive came with a bound.
He was covered in expense account checks, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were an expensive Italian handmade suit;
A bundle of fan-boys were watching his back,
Because he made comic book movies that hit them like crack.
The Executive's eyes -- how they twinkled! his wallet how merry!
His forehead was botoxed, his tie colored cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the rims of his nostrils were dotted with blow;
A script in turnaround he held tight in his teeth,
And burnt development money wrapped his head like a wreath;
He had a sculpted face and a lipo-sucked belly,
He green-lit movies and shows that played on the telly.
He was smug and self-important, not a jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know my script would never be read;
The Executive spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And hid all the net profits; man what a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up his nostril coke rose;
He sprang to his jet, to his pilot gave a whistle,
And away he flew leaving nothing but gristle.
But I heard the Executive exclaim, as he flew out of sight,
"I got my job from my uncle, and my ass you can bite!"
Not a movie was playing, not even Animal House;
Smoke from spec screenplays went up the chimney like flares,
Because it's all remakes now and no one really cares;
Studio moguls were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of bonus checks danced in their heads;
And Oscar season promising only pretentious crap,
I was bedding down for a long winter's nap,
Then from my DVD player there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the den I ran like the Flash,
Tripped on a rug and had a bad crash.
The room around me spun around really slow
Cause my over-sized head took an over-sized blow,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But old Michael Bay, and an eight pack of beer,
I said Trans-2 couldn't sell me a ticket,
He said "screw you I'm rich," and then told me to stick it.
After Bay left the studios, they came,
An Executive whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Paramount! now, Warners! now, Disney and Pixar!
On, Sony! on Uni! even, Summit and Dreamworks!
To the top of the heap! to the top of the wall!
Hide cash away! cash away! cash away all!"
As dry heaves that come before the wild vomiting fly,
When they meet with an audit, they run your legal bills high,
So up to the house-top the studios they flew,
With the sleigh full of movies, and that Executive too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The cheap excuses and buck passing of that little goof.
As I collected my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney the Executive came with a bound.
He was covered in expense account checks, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were an expensive Italian handmade suit;
A bundle of fan-boys were watching his back,
Because he made comic book movies that hit them like crack.
The Executive's eyes -- how they twinkled! his wallet how merry!
His forehead was botoxed, his tie colored cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the rims of his nostrils were dotted with blow;
A script in turnaround he held tight in his teeth,
And burnt development money wrapped his head like a wreath;
He had a sculpted face and a lipo-sucked belly,
He green-lit movies and shows that played on the telly.
He was smug and self-important, not a jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know my script would never be read;
The Executive spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And hid all the net profits; man what a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up his nostril coke rose;
He sprang to his jet, to his pilot gave a whistle,
And away he flew leaving nothing but gristle.
But I heard the Executive exclaim, as he flew out of sight,
"I got my job from my uncle, and my ass you can bite!"
Merry Christmas everybody. I'll be away from the blog for a couple of days, but I'll be back soon.
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