The Real Santa Claus Is At The

The Violins Waltzed. The Cellos And Basses Provided Accompaniment. The Violas Mourned Their Fate, While The Concertmaster Showed Off. The Flutes Did Bird Imitations…repeatedly, And The Reed Instruments Had The Good Taste To Admire My Jacket. The Trumpets Held A Parade In Honor Of Our Great Nation, While The French Horns Waxed Nostalgic About Something Or Other. The Trombones Had Too Much To Drink. The Percussion Beat The Band, And The Tuba Stayed Home Playing Cards With His Landlady, The Harp, Taking Sips Of Warm Milk A Blue Little Cup. “but The Composer Is Still Dead.

It Is Difficult, When Faced With A Situation You Cannot Control, To Admit You Can Do Nothing.

Why Haven't We Fixed Sick Yet? You Scientists There-- Put Down Those Starfish And Help Us. I Hereby Demand That All The People Who Are Good At Math Make The World Free Of Illness. The Rest Of Us Will Write You Epic Poems And Staple Them Together Into A Booklet.

A Bolt From The Blue.

I Think Pirates, Like Astronauts, Particularly For A Boy, Are Always Kind Of Worth Thinking About.