Twas the night before Christmas and all through the bus, the driver was nervous, making a fuss.
The book was now written, submitted and done, but what if none sold, not a single one?
The passengers were nestled, stuck to their leather seats, while tapping their toes to the radio beat.
When from the back of the bus arose such a clatter, I pulled the bus over to see what was the matter.
I pushed the “door” button and walked to the back, a stupid flat tire, this would get us off track.
The moon was huge, giant and bright and the tire was flat with no spare in sight.
When what to my crying eyes should appear, a shiny red tow truck and a guy with a beer.
On the hood of the truck was a big red bow and on the side it said, “Mistle-Tow.”
The little old driver was wasted and hairy, the tag on his shirt said that his name was Jerry.
More rapid than diarrhea his cures they came, he cussed like a sailor and lacked any shame.
He scratched and he burped and he even passed gas, he then spit tobacco in a McDonald’s collector glass.
He was covered in fur from the dog at his side and he patted the seat and offered a ride.
I politely declined, biting my lip, rubbing the pistol I had at my hip.
His eyes full of blood, red as a cherry, he said, “hello Darling, my name is Jerry.”
With his mouth full of drool and his white beard all dirty, I looked at my watch it was 11:30.
I asked him to help me, to please change my tire, I could see his shirt wet as he began to perspire.
He got out of the truck and agreed to assist, he worked very fast and nothing was missed.
I offered to pay him but he blew me off in a hurry, said, “Merry Christmas honey, there’s no need to worry.”
The Book-Writers-Express bus was ready to rock, than he reached into his pants and pulled out his clock. (I know what you were thinking- shame on you!)
“It’s time to move on my new writer friend, your book will do well you’ll see in the end.”
He gave me a Coor’s light and I opened it fast, I chugged it right down and spit on the grass.
He got into his truck and with a hand in the air; he swerved down the highway, avoiding a deer.
But I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight, “JERRY Christmas to all and to all a good WRITE!”
The book was now written, submitted and done, but what if none sold, not a single one?
The passengers were nestled, stuck to their leather seats, while tapping their toes to the radio beat.
When from the back of the bus arose such a clatter, I pulled the bus over to see what was the matter.
I pushed the “door” button and walked to the back, a stupid flat tire, this would get us off track.
The moon was huge, giant and bright and the tire was flat with no spare in sight.
When what to my crying eyes should appear, a shiny red tow truck and a guy with a beer.
On the hood of the truck was a big red bow and on the side it said, “Mistle-Tow.”
The little old driver was wasted and hairy, the tag on his shirt said that his name was Jerry.
More rapid than diarrhea his cures they came, he cussed like a sailor and lacked any shame.
He scratched and he burped and he even passed gas, he then spit tobacco in a McDonald’s collector glass.
He was covered in fur from the dog at his side and he patted the seat and offered a ride.
I politely declined, biting my lip, rubbing the pistol I had at my hip.
His eyes full of blood, red as a cherry, he said, “hello Darling, my name is Jerry.”
With his mouth full of drool and his white beard all dirty, I looked at my watch it was 11:30.
I asked him to help me, to please change my tire, I could see his shirt wet as he began to perspire.
He got out of the truck and agreed to assist, he worked very fast and nothing was missed.
I offered to pay him but he blew me off in a hurry, said, “Merry Christmas honey, there’s no need to worry.”
The Book-Writers-Express bus was ready to rock, than he reached into his pants and pulled out his clock. (I know what you were thinking- shame on you!)
“It’s time to move on my new writer friend, your book will do well you’ll see in the end.”
He gave me a Coor’s light and I opened it fast, I chugged it right down and spit on the grass.
He got into his truck and with a hand in the air; he swerved down the highway, avoiding a deer.
But I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight, “JERRY Christmas to all and to all a good WRITE!”
RSS Feed