Tony Baloni
New Member
- Joined
- Aug 11, 2002
So dere I am cruisin’ down da street Christmas eve in my GN. Knockin’ back my tird Manhattan, gettin’ in da festive mood, yuz knows, when I see sometin’ outta da cornah of my eye. Soez I pull ovah to dis alley an’ get outta my cah and dares a bunch of reindeeah standin’ around. Well, sittin’ against dis building’ wall in nuttin but his boxah shorts an’ red boots is Santa Claus, an’ lemme tell ya, he’s in rough shape.
He’s obviously higher dan a friggin’ kite. One a dah reindeers, named Dashah, tells me Santa got plowed before he finished his Christmas run an’ ta top it off he solt his sleigh ta get a fix! When den, Dashah an’ da udder reindeeahs sez, "Tony, yuz gotta help us! Yuz gotta save Christmas!"
Well, at foist I’m tinkin’ I’m not interested, but once I looked back down at Santa, lemme tell yuz spark retards, dares nuttin’ moah shameful den seein’ a half naket Saint Nick unloadin’ his suppah all ovah himself. Soez I says ta da reindeahs, "Let’s do it!"
Soez I hitch up da reindeeahs to my GN, trow da sacks a toys an’ stuff in da back and we’re off! Soez we shoot trew da night sky, goin’ house ta house, droppin’ stuff off. (As a side note, I’ze made sure all yuz Toybo Buick guys got a nice Christmas. Hey, ole Tony takes care a his own!)
Well, I stop at dis one joint, pop down da chimney, an’ I’m puttin’ tings undah da tree when dis little tyke comes down da staihs in pajamas holdin’ a teddy bear and rubbin’ hiz eyes, an he sez ta me, "Are you Santa?" Soez I sez "beat it, kid, or I’ll smack ya." Well, he stahts yellin’ at me, sayin’ I ain’t Santa! "Santa’s got a white beard an’ a red jacket!" An I sez, "Yeah, well ole Santas also got a serious heroin addiction." An’ da kid stahts cryin’ and kickin’ up a fuss soez I grab him an’ trows him down deez basement staihs an’ lock da door. Sheesh, what a pain in da rear seat braces!
Well, anyways, I finish up an’ I’m goin’ ovah da Pacific Ocean when I look up and seez dis jet. Soez I take my GN up to, I dunno, tirty tousand feet or so, roll down my window an’ yells ovah ta da pilot an’ co-pilot ta see if dey wanna race. Well, dey roll down dere window an’ sez, "Sure!" So we agree dat foist one ta New York wins.
So me an’ da reindeeah stop at da coast a California an’ so duz da jet. We both build boost den I tell dem on da tird toot a my horn, we go! Toot…toot…den…Bango! It’s on!
Well, I jump outta ta like a two-state lead on ‘em, but dare right behind me! Soez I’m tinkin’ dem friggin’ reindeah must be addin’ weight soez I quickly unhitch all da reindeeahs except Dashah an’ dey goez tumblin’ ovah my GN, maf ovah teacup and get sucked into da jumbo jet’s toybines. Well, dares chunks a reindeeah flyin’ all ovah an’ da jet starts ta sputter an’ slow down. Soez I easily beat them ta New York.
Well, ole Dashah’s hysterical an’ he’s yellin’ back ta me, "What happened?" An’ I tells him da hitches musta been defective an’ he falls for it. Sheesh, his heads gotta be as hollow as my cat convoytah! Soez as we’re descendin’, I’m tinkin’, ya know…I took care a everybody else’s holiday, but what about me?
Well, we land an’ Dashah’s sobbin’ and tremblin’ soez I get outta da cah, go ovah to him an’ gently pet him, sayin’ "Dare, dare." Den…Bango! I cave hiz friggin’ skull in wit a Iowah control arm, toss him in my trunk, drive home an’ cook him up for breakfast. An, as I’m sittin’ dare in my kitchen, moppin’ up da gravy on my plate wit da last morsel a Dashah, I staht tinkin’ about all da kids just getting’ up dis mornin’, openin’ dare presents as dare happy parents look on, an well, I got a little choked up. Not ‘cause a any yuletide spirit, mind yuz, but ‘cause a piece a dat friggin’ reindeeah went down da wrong pipe. But I managed ta hack it up, an’ everytins ok wit Tony Baloni.
Merry Christmas, yuz body bushings, an’ a Happy New Yeeah!
He’s obviously higher dan a friggin’ kite. One a dah reindeers, named Dashah, tells me Santa got plowed before he finished his Christmas run an’ ta top it off he solt his sleigh ta get a fix! When den, Dashah an’ da udder reindeeahs sez, "Tony, yuz gotta help us! Yuz gotta save Christmas!"
Well, at foist I’m tinkin’ I’m not interested, but once I looked back down at Santa, lemme tell yuz spark retards, dares nuttin’ moah shameful den seein’ a half naket Saint Nick unloadin’ his suppah all ovah himself. Soez I says ta da reindeahs, "Let’s do it!"
Soez I hitch up da reindeeahs to my GN, trow da sacks a toys an’ stuff in da back and we’re off! Soez we shoot trew da night sky, goin’ house ta house, droppin’ stuff off. (As a side note, I’ze made sure all yuz Toybo Buick guys got a nice Christmas. Hey, ole Tony takes care a his own!)
Well, I stop at dis one joint, pop down da chimney, an’ I’m puttin’ tings undah da tree when dis little tyke comes down da staihs in pajamas holdin’ a teddy bear and rubbin’ hiz eyes, an he sez ta me, "Are you Santa?" Soez I sez "beat it, kid, or I’ll smack ya." Well, he stahts yellin’ at me, sayin’ I ain’t Santa! "Santa’s got a white beard an’ a red jacket!" An I sez, "Yeah, well ole Santas also got a serious heroin addiction." An’ da kid stahts cryin’ and kickin’ up a fuss soez I grab him an’ trows him down deez basement staihs an’ lock da door. Sheesh, what a pain in da rear seat braces!
Well, anyways, I finish up an’ I’m goin’ ovah da Pacific Ocean when I look up and seez dis jet. Soez I take my GN up to, I dunno, tirty tousand feet or so, roll down my window an’ yells ovah ta da pilot an’ co-pilot ta see if dey wanna race. Well, dey roll down dere window an’ sez, "Sure!" So we agree dat foist one ta New York wins.
So me an’ da reindeeah stop at da coast a California an’ so duz da jet. We both build boost den I tell dem on da tird toot a my horn, we go! Toot…toot…den…Bango! It’s on!
Well, I jump outta ta like a two-state lead on ‘em, but dare right behind me! Soez I’m tinkin’ dem friggin’ reindeah must be addin’ weight soez I quickly unhitch all da reindeeahs except Dashah an’ dey goez tumblin’ ovah my GN, maf ovah teacup and get sucked into da jumbo jet’s toybines. Well, dares chunks a reindeeah flyin’ all ovah an’ da jet starts ta sputter an’ slow down. Soez I easily beat them ta New York.
Well, ole Dashah’s hysterical an’ he’s yellin’ back ta me, "What happened?" An’ I tells him da hitches musta been defective an’ he falls for it. Sheesh, his heads gotta be as hollow as my cat convoytah! Soez as we’re descendin’, I’m tinkin’, ya know…I took care a everybody else’s holiday, but what about me?
Well, we land an’ Dashah’s sobbin’ and tremblin’ soez I get outta da cah, go ovah to him an’ gently pet him, sayin’ "Dare, dare." Den…Bango! I cave hiz friggin’ skull in wit a Iowah control arm, toss him in my trunk, drive home an’ cook him up for breakfast. An, as I’m sittin’ dare in my kitchen, moppin’ up da gravy on my plate wit da last morsel a Dashah, I staht tinkin’ about all da kids just getting’ up dis mornin’, openin’ dare presents as dare happy parents look on, an well, I got a little choked up. Not ‘cause a any yuletide spirit, mind yuz, but ‘cause a piece a dat friggin’ reindeeah went down da wrong pipe. But I managed ta hack it up, an’ everytins ok wit Tony Baloni.
Merry Christmas, yuz body bushings, an’ a Happy New Yeeah!
