More like Bulwer-Lytton than Boccaccio

[mrbigsteve]

All the blame goes to chaosvizier

C is for cousins, awaiting their toys,
which I, as an uncle, ensure will make noise
H is for hellish, the mall parking lots,
with parents, Suburbans, and sugar-hyped tots
R is for royal, the screwing I feel,
from months of bills following my shopping zeal.
I is for ice still on my neighbor's walk,
but there's more left on mine, so I shouldn't talk.
S is for selling, which I should be doin',
on ebay to avoid my financial ruin.
T is for tempting, the sales that I see,
on gifts that would best be given to... me.
M is for migraine, my personal hell,
thanks to Salvation Army ringers of bells.
A is for ass, how sore it will be,
after escaping from shopping, the pre-holiday work crunch and my divisional party to spend 12 hours in the dark with an audience of underwashed fanboys watching the Lord of the Rings Trilogy (and enjoying some Dinosaur Barbeque in between features) because I have tickets and yooouuuu don't.
S is for sleeping, a thing on my list
that I likely won't get to 'til 12.26.