Showing posts with label Fred Smith Xmas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fred Smith Xmas. Show all posts

Monday, December 25, 2023

The Nightmare Before Christmas 2023 - Fred Smith Does it Again

December 25, 2023 --

Another year, 
another poem from Fred.
Not a lot of cheer
in a dismal year. 
But do not fear,
We have Fred's Photo with NY Jets Dancers
For us to share
--- Norm's feeble attempt at rhyme

Fred Smith has been posting his xmas messages here and elsewhere for many years. This year's message is a bit gloomy but have no fear, Fred ends with a cheer.

I first met Fred, a testing expert who used to work as a statistician for the old NYCBOE, when he contacted me about getting ICE members to assist in gathering data for his exposures of the evils of testing I think sometime around 2008. He then got involved with groups like GEM and Change the Stakes and was a co-winner with me and Danny Dromm of Leonie Haimson's Skinny Award in 2018 - (June 19 - I'm a Skinny: Honored to be honored by )

Fred Smith has done it again for 2023 with his yearly Xmas special. 
 

If it's Christmas, it must be Ed Notes.

Here it is.  Happy holidays and good health in 24.     
Peace.
Fred

The Nightmare Before Christmas 2023

The news flash and photos showed that Santa was dead
When the elves came upon him face down by his sled,
His red cheeks turned white as the new fallen snow.
A voice cried inside me “Please, say it ain’t so.”
The reindeer stood silent—eyes brimming with tears.
Mrs. Claus draped in black.  No more jolly years.
I refused to believe Saint Nick really had died,
But the cables broadcast his sad fate far and wide.

Could it be so surprising to find he was gone
In a year that had been one grim tragi-thon?
Guess his big heart could not endure all the stress,
The suff’ring he saw; an imploding-world mess.
The ongoing bombardment inside of Ukraine;
Now Middle East slaughter again and again;
Children murdered in classrooms with their schoolmates;
The armed killings by sickos in psychotic states.
 
And he knew from the annual missions he flew
Our planet ‘twas rampantly spinning askew.
Disasters both natural and wrought by man,
A list of plagues exceeding the biblical ten:
 
Heat waves and wild fires; floods, drought and tornadoes;
Icebergs floating freely, earth quakes and volcanoes;
Starvation, diseases, poisoned water and air;
Species disappearing, migration despair.
 
Folks sleeping on cold streets and families without homes;
No chimneys for them, nor sweet Christmas Eve poems.
'23 would bring us no large cornucopia.
Was Santa the victim of raging dystopia?
 
And literally, had he done his last laps,
Leaving kids to sit blankly tapping their apps?
So, as I conjectured on his deep pain and grief,
I became more distraught and sought instant relief.
 
A sleeping pill, two shots of rye, thence off to bed,
Fell asleep with the covers fast over my head;
But I couldn’t hide from the ensuing bad dreams,
Flowing through my unconscious in noxious streams.
 
Demon visions came rushing into my brain
Aboard a veritable Walpurgis Night train,
A juggernaut of sleighs from the bowels of hell,
Bearing legions who’d succumbed to a vicious spell;
 
A crazed reindeer named Rudolph with the mug of a hog
Was steering this mad squadron straight into the fog.
First came the invaders, rabid-eyed and on fire,
Destined to become the Proud Boys prison choir.
                                     
Their leader was a flamer with a fat orange face,
Surrounded by trumpeters known as his base,
Spewing satanic curses, purely laden with hate
That howled once again to make Amerika great.
 
There was a blonde screamer blazing down laser beams
Near a scruffy podblaster preaching righteous extremes;
And in the back of the pack, trying to hide,
Were two black-robed impostors stealing a ride;
Then white-collared George Santos popped up to exclaim
He was coming to town—Santa was his real name.
 
Now I threw off my blanket in a cold sweat;
Our country divided. The Master had no regret.
But soon I awoke to a joyous surprise;
Nick’s demise was a cruel crock of big fake news lies.
 
Some are already dubbing it, “Tucker’s Last Stand!”
But whatever you call it, Christmas remains grand.
And we’ll hear jingling bells chime from on high.
Goodness rings eternal.  The truth shall not die.

Here are his previous years, each with a different theme. 2019 seems to be absent.
 
Fred is also a statistician for the NY Jets - don't blame him for their absence from the Super Bowl for over 50 years.

Fred Smith convincing Jets dancers to boycott field tests - he's the one in the middle
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Sunday, December 25, 2022

Fred Smith with his annual XMAS Poem - 2022 version

All manner of assaults devastate Mother Earth.
Corporations put profits above human worth
--- Fred Smith, Xmas 2022 Poem excerpt
another year, 
another poem from Fred.
not a lot of cheer
in a dismal year. 
But we will always have Fred's
Photo with NY Jets Dancers
For Flair
--- Norm's feeble attempt at rhyme

I first met Fred, a testing expert who used to work as a statistician for the old NYCBOE, when he contacted me about getting ICE members to assist in gathering data for his exposures of the evils of testing I think sometime around 2008. He then got involved with groups like GEM and Change the Stakes and was a co-winner with me and Danny Dromm of Leonie Haimson's Skinny Award in 2018 - (June 19 - I'm a Skinny: Honored to be honored by Leonie Haimson along with the Great Danny Dromm and Fred Smith.)

Fred Smith has done it again for 2022 with is yearly Xmas specials.

Here are his previous years, each with a different theme. 2019 seems to be absent.
Fred is also a statistician for the NY Jets - don't blame him for their absence from the Super Bowl for over 50 years.

Fred Smith convincing Jets dancers to boycott field tests - he's the one in the middle

 

Fred Smith with his annual Xmas Poem —2022

 
We have to laugh and be optimistic to keep from crying... SleepyBlush


Christmas 2022 
 
From North Pole to South Pole, ’22’s been a mess.
‘Twas enough to leave Santa in a state of distress.                    
 
All-day cable kept pounding loud noise in his head;
The news sent him spinning and straight to his bed.
 
Reindeer were moaning and his disheartened elves    
Didn’t want to make more toys to re-stock the shelves.
 
The world seemed bereft of its natural rhythm.
Would this holy night be without him or with him?
 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
All manner of assaults devastate Mother Earth.
Corporations put profits above human worth:
 
Ice caps keep melting; fires destroy forest ranges;
Storms pour down floods, while pols deny plague-like changes.
 
Polarization’s become the norm in our states;
Trash talk flowing freely in degrading debates.
 
Pro-life activists who are against gun restrictions,
Hold both viewpoints despite the clear contradictions.
 
Each hour he was hearing about war in Ukraine;
Continuous suffering and far too much pain.
 
Inflation and hate crimes rising without any end;
School and shopping mall murders tracking a tragic trend.
 
And supreme godly judges from the loftiest heights
Letting state legislatures limit people's birthrights.
 
Another flu cycle and Covid keeps morphing,
As we welcome winter—more folks unmasked and coughing.
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 
So, Santa felt down and couldn’t get going,                  
Or force being jolly behind hollow Ho Ho-ing?               
 
Oh, how he missed Macy’s when kids had his ear,
Whispering wishes, “I was good the whole year…”
 
Though he twice-checked all the names on his “Nice” children’s list,
Naughty kids snuck up for presents that had an odd twist.
 
He recalled some notorious brats on his knee,
Whose desires foreshadowed the grown-ups they’d be:   
 
There was a young girl, her first name was Marjorie,
She demanded pet vipers for her menagerie.
 
Lindsey drawled for a Jekyll-Hyde, bobble head doll;
“Just a skunk,” Jim Jordan ordered with a snide snarl.
 
Mitch dreamed of an 8-Ball where all answers were “NO!”
A reply he took with him from those days long ago.
 
Someone pushed little Herschel to run, run and look
For an “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” pop-up coloring book.
 
“I need a chameleon,” Elise squealed chubby-faced.
Color-changing lizards perfectly suited her taste.
  
Joe humbly prayed for stamina and longevity,
Kamala waited her next—all smiles and levity.
 
While Eric was craving a large looking glass,
De Blas wasted his chance—late and hopeless, alas.
 
Andrew chose a fairy tale in which bold lying shows
A wooden boy exposed by the size of his nose.
 
Rudy could not understand the joy and sunshine
Santa brought to the youngsters waiting on line.
He jeered at their belief in this man dressed in red
And scoffed at the notion he flew in a sled.
Yet, when his turn came, Rudy craved a loudspeaker
And a billy club to bully those who were weaker.
 
Away from the crowd, a lonely boy viewed the scene;
Brooding in the back seat of his dad’s limousine.
He loathed the bell ringers just outside of the store,
Collecting coins from kind donors to help out the poor.
He had cruel disdain for social disparities,
But realized he could steal through self-dealing “charities,”
Like shortchanging workers, and rigging the tax game,
And conning saps into signing fat checks in his name.
 
 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 
Meanwhile, Mrs. Claus could be heard gently nagging,  
“Nicholas, get up now, this is no time for dragging.
We’re feeling despair, Dear, the most I can remember,
But that’s no excuse to stay home late in December.”
 
I wish this Eve’s poem could close with unrestrained cheer,
But don’t know for certain whether he’s coming this year.
 
For Santa’s, like Tinker Bell’s, light has grown dim.
Perhaps, the pure love of childhood will replenish him.
 
And his blue eyes will twinkle, and he’ll rev up his sleigh.
My heart says he’ll deliver on this Christmas Day.
 

 
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