Speed Gibson

I happened to hear a familiar Beach Boys Christmas number this afternoon. Before long, another set of lyrics began creeping and crawling around in my head. So with apologies to Brian Wilson and Mike Love:

Well way downtown where the libs all head
There’s a paper printed there that you all have read.
And a real famous scribe who deems himself chic
And he tells us what to think at least three times a week.

It’s our little Saint Nick (Little Saint Nick)
He’s our little Saint Nick (Little Saint Nick)

Such a genteel soul, we call him our Saint Nick
But he’ll smear David Strom with his style so slick.
He’s kind to his own, all the facts he’ll conceal
But when Westy fires back, man just watch him squeal!

It’s our little Saint Nick (Little Saint Nick)
He’s our little Saint Nick (Little Saint Nick)

Write on, Coleman!
Write on, Coleman!
Write on, Coleman!
Write on, Coleman!
(He don’t know nothin’!)

He’s putting out columns he works hard to perfect
For a half a dozen blogs and the NARN to correct.
He thinks he knows stuff, but he’s so in the dark
That he doesn’t even know that he’s jumped the shark.

It’s our little Saint Nick (Little Saint Nick)
He’s our little Saint Nick (Little Saint Nick)

Ooo – ooo - ooo, Merry Christmas Saint Nick
(Coleman writes this stuff all year)


.. Repeat and fade…