A Hooniversal Christmas Story From POLAЯ

He doesn't look Grinchy to me…

It’s a little Christmas miracle! The legendary POLAЯ stopped by earlier today to grace us with his presence and told us a little tale. I’m not going to add anything more to it than that. Yes, you could easily go read it in the comments, but I just don’t think we’re doing it justice there. To that end, I’m reprinting it here; I’m sure it’ll warm the cockles of your heart in the same way as it warmed mine.
Okay, that might have been the Christmas Cognac. Merry Christmas, everyone.

Every Hoon Down in Hoonville Liked Hoonmas a lot…
But POLAЯ, Who lived just north of Hoonville, Did NOT!
POLAЯ hated Hoonmas! The whole Hoonmas season!
Now, please don’t ask why. No one quite knows the reason.
It could be his tires weren’t bolted on just right.
It could be, perhaps, that his fan belts were too tight.
But I think that the most likely reason of all,
May have been that his engine was two cylinders too small.
Whatever the reason, be it loose nuts or screws,
He stood there on Hoonmas Eve, hating the Hoons,
Staring down from his cave with a sour, POLAЯY frown,
At the warm lighted headlights below in their town.
For he knew every Hoon down in Hoonville beneath,
Was busy now, hanging giant turbo wreath.
“And they’re hanging their keys up!” he snarled with a sneer,
“Tomorrow is Hoonmas! It’s practically here!”
Then he growled, with his POLAЯ fingers nervously drumming,
“I MUST find some way to stop Hoonmas from coming!”
For Tomorrow, he knew, all the Hoon girls and boys,
They’d wake to unwrap their hoony car toys!
And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the Noise!
Noise! Noise! Noise!
That’s one thing he hated! The NOISE!
NOISE! NOISE! NOISE!
Then the Hoons, young and old, would change their Oil and Grease.
And they’d grease! And they’d grease! And they’d GREASE!
GREASE! GREASE! GREASE!
They would grease on Hoon-door latches, with rare Hoon-Gulflex Waterproof Grease.
Which was something POLAЯ couldn’t stand in the least!
And THEN They’d do something He liked least of all!
Every Hoon down in Hoonville, the tall and the small,
Would gather at the track, with spent gases blazing.
They’d stand shifter-in-hand. And the Hoons would start racing!
They’d race! And they’d race! And they’d RACE!
RACE! RACE! RACE!
And the more POLAЯ thought of this Hoon Hoonmas race,
The more POLAЯ thought, “I must stop this disgrace!”
“Why, for fifty-three years I’ve put up with it now!”
“I MUST stop this Hoonmas from coming! But HOW?”
Then he got an idea! An awful idea!
POLAЯ GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!
“I know just what to do!” POLAЯ laughed in his throat.
And he made a quick Hoony Claus hat and a coat.
And he chuckled, and clucked, “What a great POLAЯY boon!”
“With this coat and this hat, I look just like Saint Hoon!”
“All I need is a Jeep Wagoneer…” POLAЯ looked around.
But, since Wagoneers are scarce, there was none to be found.
Did that stop the old POLAЯ? No! POLAЯ simply said,
“If I can’t find a Wagoneer, I’ll make one instead!”
So he called his dog, Max, who had some street cred,
And he tied a big air horn on the top of his head.
THEN He loaded some bags And some old empty sacks,
On a ramshackle ladder frame And he hitched up old Max.
Then POLAЯ said, “Giddap!” And the Wagoneer started down,
Toward the homes where the Hoon Lay a snooze in their town.
All their garages were dark. Quiet snow filled the air.
All the Hoons were all dreaming sweet dreams without care.
When he came to the first little house on the square.
“This is stop number one,” the old POLAЯ Hoon hissed,
And he climbed to the roof, empty bags in his fist.
Then he slid in the garage. next to their European Roller.
But, if Saint Hoon could do it, then so could POLAЯ.
He got stuck only once, for a moment or more.
Then he stuck his head out of the garage door.
Where the little Hoon stockings all hung in a row.
“These stockings,” he grinned, “are the first things to go!”
Then he slithered and slunk, with a smile most unpleasant,
Around the whole room, and he took every present!
Porsches! And motorbikes! Jet skates! Brake Drums!
Checker flags! Intakes! NOS Cans! And things to remove scum!
And he stuffed them in bags. Then POLAЯ, while he was swaggerin’,
Stuffed all the bags, one by one, in the wagon!
It was quarter past dawn… All the Hoons, still asleep without fear,
All the Hoons, still a snooze When he packed up his Wagoneer,
Packed it up with their presents! The ribbons! The wrappings!
The tags! And the tinsel! The trimmings! The trappings!
Three thousand feet up! Up the side of Mt. Crumpit,
He rode with his load to the tiptop to dump it!
“PoohPooh to the Hoons!” he was POLAЯISHLY humming.
“They’re finding out now that no Hoonmas is coming!”
“They’re just waking up! I know just what they’ll do!”
“Their mouths will hang open a minute or two,
Then the Hoons down in Hoonville will all cry BooHoo!”
“That’s a noise,” grinned POLAЯ, “That I simply MUST hear!”
So he paused. And POLAЯ put his hand to his ear.
And he did hear a sound rising over the snow.
It started in low. Then it started to grow.
But the sound wasn’t sad! Why, this sound sounded merry!
It couldn’t be so! But it WAS merry! VERY!
He stared down at Hoonville! POLAЯ popped his eyes!
Then he shook! What he saw was a shocking surprise!
Every Who down in Whoville, the tall and the small,
Was racing! Without any upgrades at all!
He HADN’T stopped Hoonmas from coming! IT CAME!
Somehow or other, it came just the same!
And POLAЯ, with his POLAЯ-feet ice-cold in the snow,
Stood puzzling and puzzling: “How could it be so?”
“It came with out ribbons! It came without tags!”
“It came without packages, boxes or bags!”
And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore.
Then POLAЯ thought of something he hadn’t before!
“Maybe Hoonmas,” he thought, “doesn’t come from a store.”
“Maybe Hoonmas…perhaps…means a little bit more!”
And what happened then? Well…in Hoonville they say,
That POLAЯ small engine Grew three sizes that day!
And the minute his Fan belts didn’t feel quite so tight,
He whizzed with his load through the bright morning light,
And he brought back the turbos! And the Oil and Grease!
And he, HE HIMSELF! POLAЯ carved the roast beast!
MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE! YOU HOONS ARE DA BEST!
I’M GONNA GO NOW AND LAY DOWN FOR A REST!

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  1. Braff from Rhode Island Avatar

    Holy mother of god…
    That was amazing.

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