is the grass any bluer...

is the grass any bluer...
on the other side?

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Merry Christmas & a Batty New Year!

Deck yourself with something tacky
Fa la la la la, la la la la!
Buy it, make it, plain or fancy
Fa la la la la, la la la la!
Don we now our favorite sweater
Fa la la, la la la, la la la!
For the Smackdown, there’s none better
Fa la la la la, la la la LAAAA!
Okay, Batfans, we know you’ve got a full plate just thinking about Turkey Day, and we get that. But we’re also coming up on another one of the most festive days of the year: The Bats’ Kinda Annual Holiday Sweater Smackdown! Tear yourself away from the Food Network , and concentrate on something other than pumpkin pie and stuffing for a m inute. (Sorry, Pepperidge Farm.) If you haven’t already de-mothballed your holiday sweater, it’s definitely time to give that puppy an airing out, so that you’ll be less aromatic for our gig on Saturday, December 13, when we’ll crown Prettiest, Tackiest, Mr. Merry Xmas, and Grand Champion of Fabulousness on the stage at Natasha’s!
If you won last year, come to continue your dynasty. If you lost last year, come to exact your revenge. If you just wanna watch, that’s okay too. It’ll still be way more fun than your office Holiday Party, when Bob from Accounting will Xerox his boom-boom after one too many peppermint martinis. Again. And Linda from HR will be lurking under the mistletoe, ready to pounce on anyone wearing pants. And we do mean anyone. We won’t be nearly that obnoxious. Probably.
Call 859-259-2754 to secure a table for your sweater, your pals, and your boom-boom. Show starts at 8:00. It’s our first post-Melanie outing, so we’re a little insecure about that. But the good news is, Jim Gleason has rejoined the band on stunt guitar, and we’re ready to rock! Marianne’s gonna sing her Xmas song, we’ve got some new tunes to try out, and then there’s the whole Smackdown thing…which is always a hoot.
So fa la la, deck the halls, eat bourbon balls, and Biggie Smalls. Whatever the heck that means.
On Facebook: The Bats KY
Oh, and here’s another holiday tradition:
'Twas the BAT before Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the cave,
All wings were a-flapping, as The Bats misbehaved.
Fishnet stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Santa Baby soon would be there.
The Bats were home, darlings, but they weren't in their beds,
Not while visions of rock stardom danced in their heads.
And Melanie in her miniskirt, and Jim in his tee,
Had just tuned up for a wild guitar spree.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
We dropped our guitars to see what was the matter.
Away to the entrance we flew like a flash,
Swept away all the guano, and hid our booze stash.

The moon on our breasts made 'em look pretty great
And we thought for a second, "Hell, yeah, we still rate!"
When, what to our wondering radar should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.
With a little old driver, so lively and fat,
We knew in a moment it must be St. Bat.
More rapid than beagles her coursers they came,
And she whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Cosmo! now, Gimlet! now, Martini and Rossi!
On, Sloe Gin! On, Merlot, Manhattan and Saucy!
To the top of the cave! We must gift The Bats all!
So dash away! Dash away! Dash away, y'all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the cave-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of booty, and St Bat too.

And then, in a twinkling, we heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As we drew in our wings, and were turning around,
Down into the cave St Bat came with a bound.
She was dressed in fake fur, from her head to her Blahniks,
And we swore she was tipsy on vodka and tonics.
A bundle of gifts she had packed in her bag
And she looked like a hooker, a floozy, a hag.
Her eyes, were they blood-shot! her top lip, how hairy!
Her cheeks like Four Roses, her nose like a cherry!
Her botoxed two lips were puffed up like a bow,
And her blonde hair the color of--yuk!--yellow snow.
The stub of a cig she held tight in her teeth,
And the smoke it encircled her head like a wreath.
She had a flushed face and a little pot belly,
That shook when she laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!
She was chubby and plump, a right rowdy old crone,
And we laughed when we saw her, right there in our home!
A wink of her eye and a twist of her pelvis,
Soon gave us to know she was a big fan of Elvis.
She spoke not a word, but went straight to her work,
And filled all the fishnets, then turned with a jerk.
And laying her finger aside of her nose,
And giving a snort, from the Bat cave she rose!
She sprang to her sleigh, to her team gave a yell,
And away they all flew like a Bat out of hell.
But we heard her exclaim, 'ere she drove out of sight,
“See you December 13th; it'll be a good night!”
Happy Rockin' Holidays to Batfans Everywhere!

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