And, for good measure, here's the short the boys entered in the Phoenix Student Film Festival a couple of years ago.
Showing posts with label funnies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label funnies. Show all posts
18 May 2010
Play Music
My no. 3 son reminded me tonight that he wants me to post his most recent film here on the blog to make it easier for his friends to find. So, without any further ado, I present to you, Play Music.
And, part 2:
And, part 2:
25 December 2008
Merry Christmas
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro' the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar plums danc'd in their heads,
And I in my helmet caref’ly watched the bait,
And settled my brain for a long winter's wait —
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
Agent Moore sprang to the window to see what was the matter.
When, what to his wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny rein-deer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
He knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and call'd them by name:
"Now! Dasher, now! Dancer, now! Prancer and Vixen,
"On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Donner and Blitzen;
"To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
"Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys — and St. Nicholas too:
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As Moore drew in his head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound;
He was dress'd all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnish'd with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys was flung on his back,
And he look'd like a peddler just opening his pack;
His eyes — how they twinkled!
His dimples: how merry,
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry;
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of Havana he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face, and a little round belly
That shook when he laugh'd, like a bowl full of jelly:
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laugh'd when I saw him in spite of myself;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And fill'd all the stockings; then turn'd with a jerk,
As we sprang and surrounded him, with guns and black vests
And cries of “FBI! You’re under arrest!”
We got him on house-breaking, and slave labor too,
For he forced the Elves’ work to get presents to you,
And bypassing Customs, and smuggling gifts,
And those things like LEGOs? They came from shoplifts.
He financed it all through embezzlement and fraud;
This Santa Claus fellow considered himself god!
That night we brought down his criminal empire,
I’m just glad we got him without any gunfire.
We hand-cuffed and led him out to our SWAT van,
Across the yard full of snow and with a snowman.
But I heard him exclaim, as I read him his rights —
“Happy Christmas to all, I’ve had one heck of a night”.
by Benjamin Spear (©2008), who is intrigued by all things FBI.
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar plums danc'd in their heads,
And I in my helmet caref’ly watched the bait,
And settled my brain for a long winter's wait —
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
Agent Moore sprang to the window to see what was the matter.
When, what to his wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny rein-deer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
He knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and call'd them by name:
"Now! Dasher, now! Dancer, now! Prancer and Vixen,
"On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Donner and Blitzen;
"To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
"Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys — and St. Nicholas too:
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As Moore drew in his head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound;
He was dress'd all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnish'd with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys was flung on his back,
And he look'd like a peddler just opening his pack;
His eyes — how they twinkled!
His dimples: how merry,
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry;
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of Havana he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face, and a little round belly
That shook when he laugh'd, like a bowl full of jelly:
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laugh'd when I saw him in spite of myself;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And fill'd all the stockings; then turn'd with a jerk,
As we sprang and surrounded him, with guns and black vests
And cries of “FBI! You’re under arrest!”
We got him on house-breaking, and slave labor too,
For he forced the Elves’ work to get presents to you,
And bypassing Customs, and smuggling gifts,
And those things like LEGOs? They came from shoplifts.
He financed it all through embezzlement and fraud;
This Santa Claus fellow considered himself god!
That night we brought down his criminal empire,
I’m just glad we got him without any gunfire.
We hand-cuffed and led him out to our SWAT van,
Across the yard full of snow and with a snowman.
But I heard him exclaim, as I read him his rights —
“Happy Christmas to all, I’ve had one heck of a night”.
by Benjamin Spear (©2008), who is intrigued by all things FBI.
20 May 2008
08 February 2008
Arts and Architecture
My first issue of The Intercollegiate Review arrived today. The quote on the back was an excerpt from Russel Kirk's essay "The Architecture of Servitude and Boredom".
Let us leave historical determinism to the Marxists and other ideologues. The courses of nations depend upon the energy and the talents of particular individuals--and upon Providence, always inscrutable. It remains true even in this mass age of ours that individual genius and courage--or at least, the imagination and boldnesss of a handful of men and women--may leaven the lump of dullness and apathy, all across the land. From causes which at present no one guesses, conceivably there may come about a reinvigoration of urban planning and architecture.... The architectural and artistic charlatan, leagued with the spoilsman and the bureaucrat, may be thrust aside, abruptly, by a new breed of architects and artists endowed with the moral imagination. Given faith and hope, it is yet imaginable that we may draw upon the architectural well of the past to bring into being an architecture strong and humane.
~~~~~
And, not from the Review, but quoted in the Gileskirk lecture we discussed today, from the quill of John Adams:
In my many years I have come to a conclusion that one useless man is a shame, two is a law firm, and three or more is a congress.
SDG!
Let us leave historical determinism to the Marxists and other ideologues. The courses of nations depend upon the energy and the talents of particular individuals--and upon Providence, always inscrutable. It remains true even in this mass age of ours that individual genius and courage--or at least, the imagination and boldnesss of a handful of men and women--may leaven the lump of dullness and apathy, all across the land. From causes which at present no one guesses, conceivably there may come about a reinvigoration of urban planning and architecture.... The architectural and artistic charlatan, leagued with the spoilsman and the bureaucrat, may be thrust aside, abruptly, by a new breed of architects and artists endowed with the moral imagination. Given faith and hope, it is yet imaginable that we may draw upon the architectural well of the past to bring into being an architecture strong and humane.
~~~~~
And, not from the Review, but quoted in the Gileskirk lecture we discussed today, from the quill of John Adams:
In my many years I have come to a conclusion that one useless man is a shame, two is a law firm, and three or more is a congress.
SDG!
29 January 2008
Diswording
'Words' I've heard lately and my guesses at their definitions:
ovenable: able to be ovened(?)
impactful: describing a person with four impacted wisdom teeth or something that makes you wish you had four impacted wisdom teeth because you'd have an excuse to be elsewhere
unforgiveness: the act of incorporating scenes from Clint Eastwood movies in other films or works of art (e.g. Back to the Future, III is full of unforgiveness.)
repentive: description of someone who must repent repeatedly; derived from 'repetitive repentance'
'Nuff said.
SDG!
ovenable: able to be ovened(?)
impactful: describing a person with four impacted wisdom teeth or something that makes you wish you had four impacted wisdom teeth because you'd have an excuse to be elsewhere
unforgiveness: the act of incorporating scenes from Clint Eastwood movies in other films or works of art (e.g. Back to the Future, III is full of unforgiveness.)
repentive: description of someone who must repent repeatedly; derived from 'repetitive repentance'
'Nuff said.
SDG!
17 November 2006
A Thanksgiving Toast
A turkey, stuffing, cider, bread,
Potatoes sweet and white,
Such grace and blessing, gratitude
For all within our sight.
For friends and fam’ly gather’d here
Upon this cheerful night,
Please lift your glass and drink a toast
To great big appetites!
SDG!
© Lynne Spear, 2006
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