Haiku haiku (high-koo) an unrhymed japanese verse form of three lines containing 5, 7, and 5 syllables respectively; also a poem of this form tanka (tank-ah) an unrhymed japanese verse form of five lines containing 5, 7, 5, 7, and 7 syllables respectively; also a poem of this form ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Who Started This Mess?? From: "William R. Kennedy I've been noticing cars that are like rolling haiku -- a whole short story in one car. For instance: Spotless black 85 Cadillac Fleetwood. Red mudflaps on all four wheels. Navaho blanket covering the front seat. Stick-shift Volvo station wagon with a dent in one back door. Stickers on the back window for Rice and Oberlin. Missing one wheel cover on each side. 71 volkswagen bus, some rust but good shape. used to carry chickens. smells bad. Joel Walker White knuckled vanagon driver hunched forward on seat watching heat gauge Will Self Vanagon too hot, Rebuilding engine again, Hope this time it's cool. Martha Rubin Brown bus girded by Detroit steel, a precious egg In a nettle nest. Joel Danke Once again Friday Vanagon list springs to life Joel's list and a song Ric Golen Three generations, little engines in the rear. eurovan screwed up. Joel Walker Internet Mania Net heads at their desks Hearts home with VeeDub Bricks Gerald Skerbitz blocky and stubby a loaf of bread in motion well below light speed Mark K. Janello One '91 Vangon GL, Joel owns one then sells it. Joel screwed up. Steve Johnson The bumper sticker said: Zero to sixty-seven, In only thirteen minutes. Martha Rubin Da Trip Bus line rambles down the long road from near to far Happy campers smile Dyer Lytle Prospector Slow bus rolls along Bumpy dirt roads beckon Quiet backcountry bed Dyer Lytle Three generations, engines in the rear eurovan gets it right YES Ric Golen New soft bus bed, wife unawares Deflowering commences tonight Danny Dayton A fahrvergnugen goes a long way to explain Volkswagon Joshua Poulson Someone asks VW question, Steven give a brief answer. All Hell breaks loose. Steve Johnson Wheels of Time roll on, Buses pass to history, and still we love them. Joel Walker If you don't succeed at first attempt, then go get a Bigger Hammer. :) Joel Walker Junkyard yields a view: rusting hulks of yesterday, organ donors now. Joel Walker eurovan is now latest in the family, tradition bearer Joel Walker 23 windows, canvas sunroof, two-tone paint. a volkswagen bus Joel Walker big bay window face, sliding door, metal sunroof. a volkswagen bus. Joel Walker streamlined brick on wheels, Type 4 engine in the back. a volkswagen bus. Joel Walker everything on wheels, including the kitchen sink. volkswagen camper. Joel Walker See the bus idle It will if you feed it some Twenty weight fifty James Brill The split window bus Engine on the cargo floor Thought I could fix it. Eric Oster thirty-six horses it is scrap metal always got sixteen hundred Eric Oster now the bus can climb a hill no jokes about my slow bus (I guess I have engine angst this week.) Eric Oster Oil drops from the Bus Drizzled on the parking lot Piss off the grounds crew Mike Wright It's Friday P.M. I'm sure no one can tell that I don't want to work Mike Wright Soon the old Bus fires And transports me home again To dogs needing food Mike Wright Fresh snow on the world Bus moves ahead sure-footed Secure and peaceful. Mike Wright Ten foot rusted pipe Cooling system bleeds to death Bring back the air cooled foo@bar Out on the freeway old microbus beeps and waves Love my Volkswagen foo@bar From: wself@viking.emcmt.edu (Will Self) This is real haiku in its native Japanese language, featuring nothing less than the indomitable Volkswagen! Dandan to Kono Kaki-iro no Min-sha iku That should be read in separate syllables/beats as Da N Da N To Ko No Ka Ki I Ro No Mi N Sha I Ku the classic 5-7-5 of the haiku form. It means slowly this persimmon-colored volkswagen goes (Persimmon-colored for Fall imagery, you know; "Min-sha" is literally "people-car" and thus a tolerable rendering of "VW".) Sushi, sashimi, And Teriyaki all don't, Beat a westy van! Martha Rubin Nor do Toyota, Honda, Nissan, Suzuki, Lexus, Acura Danny Dayton Ric is bummed because No Bus haiku or humor Have brightened Friday Mike Wright Friday is now like A Breadloaf with no engine OK. Not moving Mike Wright dark frosty mornings thick thirty weight, oilpump cries screeching chills the soul Jim Macklow ------------------------------------------------------------------------ THE VANAGON LIMERICK CORNER A fellow who lived down in Dixie Flew his Volkswagen bus to Biloxi He landed okay But then blew it away For he hadn't yet learned how to taxi Will Self There was a young man from Nantucket, Who kept in his bus a big bucket, Which he used to dig clams, (Great big ones, like hams) And they'd make him so sick he'd upchuckit. Joel Walker There was an old hermit named Dave, Who kept an old bus in a cave. When traffic went fast, He was always the last, But think of the money he saved! Joel Walker There was a young fellow from Kent, Whose bus in the middle was bent. With the steering he fiddled, So he drove from the middle, And it caused quite a stir down in Ghent! Joel Walker There was a young girl from Madras Who painted her bus like the grass. But the leaves looked so real, As she took to her wheels, That the hippies would chase her en masse. Joel Walker There once were 3 men in a VDub (well, at least it wasn't a tub!). One said "three's a crowd", the second said "not so loud", the last said "well, let's form a club!" Lori Gelato There once were 3 men in a VDub (well, at least it wasn't a tub!). The first yelled "let's fix it!", the second said "let's nix it!", the last said "turn into a sub!" David Carment A is for apple, B is for bush, If ya wanna ride in my bus, then get out and push! Thom Fitzpatrick in the slow lane barely movin' the VW busses go cruisin we're not super fast the traffic flies past but WE understand farvergnugen! sstones they started out air cooled flat four then they sold wasserboxers (by the score) (galore?) Eurovans, people want? Five Cylinders? UP FRONT? What will be next if there's more? sstones Martha, on the Vanagon channel drives a van, is it a panel? She's a sexism Cop wants the rudeness to stop! Always threatening us with her flannel. sstones There once was a Volkswagen bus that caused it's poor owner to cuss til he fixed it again and smiling said then "I guess it's worth all of the fuss" Richard Palmer A Volkswagen owner named Danny Was doing some work on his tranny He yanked the shift cable As hard as he was able And it smacked him one right in the fanny. Mark Janello ------------------------------------------------------------------------ My bus it seems is leaking oil Something upon which must toil not from the engine, that's too easy to fix this I'll get really greasy the problem squirts from my transmission a quandry which, by my admission leaves me in quite a large dilemma and may shrink my poor wallet slimmer or shall I take the noble path and work myself, while others laugh at my life's passion, and it's fruits a happy auto, with horn that toots and mostly carries me along the stretching roads with happy song and brings to my sad face a smile as we traverse the wandering mile My bus I love, of that I'm sure there always has to be a cure I'll feed her oil, to her content until there's money to be spent and then to her it all will go And I at least will always know that e'er elusive fahrvergnu:gen that pleasant sense that all is groovin' And so I bid you all the same let no one hang your head in shame should someone nasty point and cuss Let's all be proud TO OWN A BUS !!! Richard Palmer ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Klassical Po'try For Those Who Take Trips in the Winter ... (with apologies to Robert W. Service) Strange tales are told, 'bout the winter's cold, In Volkswagen buses so true; When the wind's fierce howl drowns the tranny's growl And there ain't enough heat for you. When that very same wind is trying to bend The steering wheel out of your hand And your muscles ache when you step on the brake To slow the Velocity Van. With the numbness that spread from your butt to your head Cause the feeling's gone out of your toes, And you're wondering where, in that junk pile back there, Were those warmer and woolier clothes. For the three hundredth time, you recite the rhyme And the reason that caused you to go On this journey through land made white, dead, and bland By the hands of ol' Winter and Snow. But you arrive there on time, in the arctic-like clime, And relate to them all of the pain Of the bone-chilling cold, and the driver so bold To have beaten ol' Winter again. Through the window you stare at the bus parked out there, Covered now all over with snow; And next time, for sure, you swear now to cure Those heater boxes down there below! (from The Buses of Sam McGee, by Robert W. Service-Dept.) :) Joel Walker JWALKER@ua1vm.ua.edu From: macklow@sybase.com (Jim Macklow) To the tune of "My Bonnie Lies Over The Ocean" Our Squareback was born o'er the ocean A German beauty was she One Halloween night in Washington Our poor little girl ceased to be Bring back, bring back, Oh bring back my Squareback to me, to me Bring back, bring back, Oh bring back my Squareback to me All dressed up for a night of haunting All four of us kids in the 'Back Mother never saw what was lurking Up ahead by the side of the track Bring back, bring back, Oh bring back my Squareback to me, to me Bring back, bring back, Oh bring back my Squareback to me An escaped Angus bull feeling flirty Looking for heifers in heat We hit him broadside doing thirty 'Twas end of that night's trick-or-treat Bring back, bring back, Oh bring back my Squareback to me, to me Bring back, bring back, Oh bring back my Squareback to me The very next day the truth hit The front end smashed beyond repair Our sweet squareback couldn't survive it Gundy's Boneyard took her under his care Bring back, bring back, Oh bring back my Squareback to me, to me Bring back, bring back, Oh bring back my Squareback to me My memories are fond of that Squareback Not everyone that night does (I hear) That Angus must hate our old Squareback See that bull is now just a steer Bring back, bring back, Oh bring back my balls to me, to me Bring back, bring back, Oh bring back my balls to me -Jim "A true story, I might add" Macklow From: Joel Walker My Vanagon speeds down the highway, My Brick-bat just flies down the street, My Transporter rolls on the blacktop, And I think it looks kinda neat! :) Cores: Bring Back, oh, Bring Back, oh, bring back my Buses to me, to me! Bring Back, oh, Bring Back, oh, bring back my Buses to me, to me! My Camper can drive through the country, My Camper can drive through the town, It can reach up to speeds Quite Astounding As long as I put the top down! My Microbus doesn't roll swiftly, If fact, it won't go very fast, But it's still in one piece and still rolling, So I guess it was built well to last. My Bus can go over the meadows, My Bus can go under the trees, My Bus can surprise many people, Cause I camp anywhere that I please. :) My Split-Window scoots through the city, My Microbus zooms round the place, And it makes people happy to see it, As it smiles at them with its big face. ---------------------------------------- I'm Popeye the sailor man, I sail in my Vee Dub van; It's tight, it will float, It's the best kind of boat For Popeye the sailor man. Will Self Oym Olive the sailor girl, Oyl sail all around the world. Oym getting a kick Out of sailing my brick, Oym Olive the sailor girl. Will Self I'm driving my Microbus At which I must sometimes cuss. The reduction gearing Has de-stroyed my hearing, While driving my Microbus. I'm driving my Bread Loaf bus, Which handles without much fuss. But the wind blows me sideways, Out on the big highways, While driving my Bread Loaf bus. I'm driving my Vanagon, Of which I am very fond. It's neat and extensive, But repair's expensive While driving my Vanagon. I'm driving my Eurovan, As fast as I really can. It's faster than turtles ... I can jump over hurdles, While driving my Eurovan. I'm Otto, the bus-driving fool, I think buses are really cool. I love to go swimming With bow-legged women, I'm Otto, the bus-driving fool. Joel Walker Hitchhiker's Lament (sing it to the tune of Streets of Laredo or Cowboy's Lament) As I was out driving one morning for pleasure, My bus and me riding one morning so fair, I spied an old geezer beside of the highway, A pack on his back and his thumb in the air. There was something about him that gathered my notice, A something familiar, and yet still unseen, A spirit so kindred, I felt in a moment That here but for god's grace was easily me. I pulled to the shoulder and waved to him friendly, He walked to the bus and he slowly got in. I asked, "Where you headed?". He answered, "Out that way." "And I'm later than usual," he said with a grin. In talking while riding, he told a sad story Of trading two morrows for one yesterday, And then he admitted that he once had buses, And like his tomorrows, they faded away. "I once had a camper, a nice sixty-seven, A neat little Microbus rolling along, But the wife and I split up, I needed some money, So I sold it to strangers, for nearly a song." "My fortunes rebounded, a year or so later, But by then the buses lost most of their charm, Still I bought me a Breadloaf, and learned that I loved it, For it still was a Bus and could do me no harm." "After that there were others, in lengthy succession, A Vanagon camper I had for a while, A pickup, a kombi, a double-door panel, I had always thought I'd be riding in style." "But fortunes and favors don't stay long at my house, They find better lodging with others some day. When I lost all my money, my job, and my buses, That's when I packed up to try traveling this way." "As the years added to me, I wandered the country, Searching and seeking and moving along, Unsure of the way that my destiny pulled me, I changed my direction like changing my song." He talked for a long time to tell his life's story, I listened intently to his sad refrain, For his tale was spell-binding, no matter the sadness, And he spoke as if knowing he'd rebound again. My exit came up as we rode down the highway, So I pulled to the shoulder and bid him farewell, He thanked me profusely and wouldn't take money And waved at me til I had turned down the dell. And as I was driving, my home road returning, His last words were ringing around in my brain, "Enjoy this nice bus for as long as you have it, You just never know if you'll have one again." Joel Walker From: wself@viking.emcmt.edu (Will Self) A goat in a Volkswagen junkyard [f] A goat in a Volkswagen junkyard, in search of an afternoon meal, had started with remnants of rubber and several fragments of steel. He nibbled a couple of axles, he gobbled up gauges and gears, he gnawed on a tangle of wires and colorful plastic veneers. He polished off various bearings, he munched on a mountain of brass, he bolted a heap of upholstery and numerous panels of glass. He put away pistons and pedals, then followed a fender or two with most of a standard transmission, and they aren't easy to chew. He ate an assortment of sprockets, he swallowed some springs by the coil, then washed down his lunch with a gallon of forty-weight premium oil. As soon as that goat had digested the junk he had feasted upon, he coughed and he coughed and he coughed and he coughed and he coughed up a new Vanagon. Will Self Shamelessly stolen (mutatis mutandis) from _Something Big Has Been Here_, by Jack Prelutsky-- "must" reading for anyone with a kid (or grandkid) over 6. Dangerous Van McGrew by Robert W. Service-Advisor A bunch of the buses were boozing it up, In the Rancho del Red Rock canteen, All shitfaced from swilling straight thirty-weight oil, They were starting to get rather mean. The temperatures rose, with the shouts and the swears, And the burnt smell of oil made you choke, When the doors flung wide open, and a breath of fresh air Made them all forget what they spoke. For there in the door, in lilly white lace, Was a Eurovan, twitching her hips, And enjoying the sight of the buses' bright lights Which got brighter as she licked her lips. She was young, and demur, but no stranger to vice, For her fenders had scratches and dings. And some Microbus said, as he cradled his head, He had heard she did unspeakable things. She was different, he said, with her engine up front, Where her power went to her front wheels, Her pistons were five, water-cooled, and inline ... And THAT made the Vanagons squeal! As the stares and the gossip encircled the room, Like the blue smoke of oil in the air, She straightened her fenders, rolled up to the bar, Said, "Barkeep! Some oil for this mare!" "Don't give me that cheap stuff, that no-name lube oil, "And I don't want that recycled stuff!" "I want quality hootch, that Mobil, that One," She said in a voice, low and gruff. She was half through a liter, her fifth of the night, When a big Syncro Camper came in, He focused his headlights and gave her both brights, As his grillwork turned into a grin. So he four-wheeled beside her, and popped up his top, Saying, "Howdy, kin I buy you a can?" "Or maybe you'd rather come sit over there, "Where I'll show you a Real Vee-Dub Van!" At first, she ignored him, or so it appeared, But the oil, it was taking its toll, And there in the corner, by the end of the bar, Her Eurovan virtue was sold. When the sun rose next morning, her headliner ached, And her radiator needed a washing, Her headlights were cloudy, all covered with grime, And her fuel tank, near empty, was sloshing. Nine months from that day, in a family way, She found herself circled by babies, Reminders for life, of that one fateful night, With none of those But's, If's, or Maybe's. A Golf that was blue, of a beautiful hue, Like his father, a color that glowed; A Jetta of red, at least so they said; And a Beetle as white as the snow. Joel Walker JABBERWAGEN by Screwloose Feral Twas brilliant, and the propane stoves Did fyre and syzzle in the van; All sparkle were the splits and loaves And the idle thoughts outran. "Beware the Jabberwagen bus! "The rattles that ne'er cease their speech! "Beware the Bus-Bus chorus line, "And listen not to what they preach!" He lifted up his greasley tools; Long time the irksome rattle sought ... Til slumbered he by the Half-Fast Tree And rested eyes in thought. And as pretended he to sleep The Jabberwagen squeaked again, Still certain of abilities To do its wants and when. One, Two! Three, Four! And ratchet more! The hex-side socket felt his heft! And with the rattle dead and gone, He gathered up his tools and left. "And hast thou silenced now the bus?" They said as closer came he still; "Oh, Happy Day! Hot Damn! Hooray!" And then he handed them the bill. Twas brilliant, and the propane stoves Did fyre and syzzle in the van; All sparkle were the splits and loaves And the idle thoughts outran. Joel Walker ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The small town cop follows my Bus, waiting and hoping for drugs and hippies but finding only a middle-aged couple, one bald one stocky, with a bad map Mike "Bard of Ackworth" Wright The small town cop ignores my Bus, for he knows that drugs and hippies are a strain on his limited intelligence, And he can always go after the yuppie sailing through in his Black Shiny Lexus So I just smile, and wave, as he shakes his head in disbelief Jon Ulrigg (Rho) A Bus by someone-other-than-Joyce-Kilmer I thought that I would never see A bigger fool than I could be, Someone whose tastes are sim'lar strange In transportation speed and range. Who, like me, instead of speed, Choose cargo volume as a need; More room to sleep, perchance to dream, With all within, beside a stream. And like the Tortoise, not the Hare, We won't be hurried getting there; But when arrived we are, we think, We've kit, caboodle, and kitchen sink. Who, like me, instead of miles, Would rather count the grins and smiles That come from driving day to day Four wheels beneath a cargo-bay. And sit up high above the street, To wave at every bus we meet, As down the highways and the lanes, We truck along with sweet refrains. I thought that I would never see A bigger fool than I could be, But lots of folks make quite a fuss, That only Volkswagen makes a Bus. :) Joel Walker The Craven by Edgar Allen Whatzisface Once upon a midnight frozen, As I drove the route I'd chosen, Sitting at the wheel until my butt was sore, Suddenly, there came a tapping, Tapping, as if someone rapping, Rapping gently at my sliding door. "'Tis the wind," said I to me, "'Tis the wind, and nothing more." Onward through the night I traveled As my confidence unraveled, Thinking of the noise, the ill it bode. Was it just a Sstone in hubcap? Perhaps an unrefastened gas cap? Or something worse to break and leave me stranded on the road? "'Tis the wind," said I to me, "'Tis the wind, and nothing more." In the headlights, snow was falling, Still that tapping noise was calling, Calling all my senses back from whence it came. Perhaps a cv-joint needs greasing, And newer boots would make it pleasing. Yes, that's the ticket! Now that's the one to blame. "'Tis the joints," I sagely muttered, "'Tis the joints, and nothing more." And then, as if it heard my speaking, The noise was silent ... my ears still seeking Could find no trace of what I'd heard before. On I drove, in silent waiting, Waiting for the noise, restating In my mind the causes I had thought ... and more. "'Tis my mind," said I to me, "'Tis my mind, and nothing more." Throughout the trip, no noise resounded. But always now my thoughts are grounded In the causes of that noise I heard before. Like a shadow cast by sunlight, My wraith-like fears will follow; and might I, from out that shadow, e'er be lifted? ... Nevermore. Joel Walker Vee Dub Busing (to the tune of Lemon Tree ... with a calypso beat). When I was just a teenaged lad, My father said, "Don't fuss, Just come and take a lesson from This old Volkswagen Bus." "Don't put your faith in Love, my boy," My father said to me, "I fear you'll find that Love is like This Vee Dub Bus you see ..." Vee Dub Buses are so pretty, Well-designed and really neat, But they all are underpowered, And impossible to heat. "Make sure you've always clothes enough To sleep out in the snow, And when you drive, don't drive too far, And never drive too slow." "And if it breaks, just fix it there, Don't rant and rave and cuss," My father spoke these words to me, About my Vee Dub Bus. I took the bus away to school, My father's words forgot, Until the winter with it's snow Showed heat that wasn't hot. So all the winter, round I drove, Dressed up like Eskimos, With ice and snow inside my bus, And frost upon my nose. And when the spring with green leaves came, We went away for Break, To Flor-i-da, Where Sunshine Flows, And girls are on the make! ;) But as we drove for days and nights, My father's words replayed, For by the time we reached the sand, The girls had all been made. :( And now I'm old, and past my prime, But still I drive the Bus, I've learned to drive with heated cold And travel without fuss. Mistakes I've made throughout the years, And learned from each, it's true, That when you go vacationing, Take the girls you want with you! :) Joel Walker ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Couplets I think that I shall never scan A poem lovely as a van-- A Volksy van that gets me there, And home again without a care. Will Self Nor will I find, in travels bold Conveyance which is quite so cold. A heaters' warmth would be so fair; 'Til then it's thermal underwear Mike Wright As far as rides it is very nice Even with the windscreen all in ice In the back I have every tool Just in case the motor looses cool James Brill I think that I have always ran Faster than my little van. That little bus, rose a fuss, And now I'm sitting on my can. It used to be my shiny coupe, Now it is a chicken coop. Then I bought myself a wrench, worked and worked and raised a stench. Now I'll eat this bowl of soup. I pushed and pulled and banged and pried, you'll never know how hard I tried. I sweat and swore and heaved and ho-ed, I'll never get this damn thing towed. I worked so hard I nearly cried. Then one day my work was done, Now my bus again can run. Forty and and forty nights, Someone please turn out the lights. Wasn't that a lot of fun? Wolfram v.Kiparski I think that I shall never see An auto that appeals to me, In shape or form, for beast or man, As much as a Volkswagen Van. It goes Where None Have Gone Before And does it with just speeds of four; It goes, and with you takes it all For creature comforts, big and small; It carries on, and ne'er complains In Winter's snow or Springtime's rains, Or Summer's heat, or Autumn's breeze, Although at times, your butt will freeze; It lasts the ages, passing down From Old to Young, who've newly found The sheer delight and sect's appeal Of driving in a box on wheels. Joel Walker ----------------------------------------------------------------------- St. Patrick's Day Was I Dreaming? I biked down to the parts store, Cause my Vee Dub needed work, And the prices for Volkswagen parts, They drove me half beserk. But listen, something happened, That I'll tell you all about; This was the oddest Blarney, Beyond the slightest doubt. A most mysterious thing it was, On Good Saint Patrick's day, I saw a yellow vanagon A-barrelin' my way. I jumped aside to save my life As past me it did glide, And startled more I never was, To catch a glimpse inside. Most eerie, I confess to you, (The chills I still can feel) Because that van was pilotless-- No driver at the wheel! I swallowed hard and gathered pluck And hopped aboard my bike, To catch up with that vanagon, And see what it was like. I finally overtook the bus-- That yellow vanagon-- Amazed, I saw 'twas driven by A wee green leprechaun! Just as I drew aside of him He stopped, and gave a smile, And then his van fell all to bits! A rainbow touched the pile. He grinned and winked and disappeared Like leprechauns of old, And left me with a pile of parts-- The rainbow's pot o' gold! Will Self ------------------------- Down-sizing Affects Fairy Tales. film at eleven As I was out riding, just riding along, A'steering my bus and just singing this song, When what on my dashboard should sudden appear, But a green looking Santa with tiny green deer. So I says to this Santa, "Here, aren't you quite wrong?" "You're all the wrong color, and Christmas has gone." To which he replied, "Son, just lend me your ear ... and if you've got any, could you give me a beer?" Well, I had just a six-pack, right there on the seat, So I gave him one quickly; he finished it neat. Then he sat back, and burped once, then burped once again, And he started to tell me this sad, sad refrain. Of how, in the world of the Fairies and Witches, The tele had put them in serious stitches, Cause kids had no reason to give them belief, So half of the Fairies were off on relief. And one of them who was just laid off last week Was the Leprechaun fellow with the green little cheek, So now Santa's working on St. Paddy's day, With his green little reindeer a'pulling his sleigh. "But I've not got it right yet", he said with a frown, "This gold pot malarkey is wearing me down. "The people are chasing, and grabbing and snatching, "And they hope that it's me that they'll soon be a'catching." Then he sighed, and he got up, and went to his sleigh, Said, "Thanks for the beer, but I'm off on my way." Then he poofed out of sight, as he said with a sneer, "To all a good night, and to all a green beer!" Joel Walker ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Christmas The Night Before Christmas T'was the night before Christmas, and all round the house, Not a VeeDub was running, I felt like a louse The stockings were hung by the chimney with care in hopes that St. Wolfsburg soon would be there The children were nestled all snug in their beds while visions of Campers danced in their wee heads And Mama in her flannel and I in mine, too, thought a cross-county bus tour was a neat thing to do When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter like sounds of a bad clutch; you know how they chatter Away to the window I flew like a flash i loosened the locks and threw open the sash And what to my wondering eyes did appear? But a Volkswagen bus, of the earlier years With a little old driver so pudgy and round that i knew in a moment St. Wolfsburg I'd found And pulling the Bus, through the snow and the cold, was an octet of Beetles, so proud and so bold More rapid than turtles, they strained as they came as he yelled and he screamed and he called them by name Now Sunroof, now Oval, now Super, and Sunbug On Verti, on Kuebel, on Karmann, and Goldbug To the top of the carport, to the top of the wall drive away, drive away, drive away all So up to the rooftop this convoy then flew The Bus full of car parts and the Beetles were, too As I drew in my head and was turning around from the chimney St. Wolfsburg came out with a bound He was dressed as mechanics, from his head to his foot and he reeked of old motor oil and ashes and soot A huge bunch of car parts he had stuffed in his sack marked VeeDub and Bosch - I was taken aback His face was all wrinkled, his eyes so dejected like he'd been told his repairs were more than expected His feet were all covered with oil, which was dripping all over my carpet where he had been tripping He was rotund and jolly, a competent mech, but my room now was filthy, a horrible wreck He spoke not a word but went straight to his work, with his butt-crack all showing, like some plumber, the jerk! Then putting his finger aside of his nose with a wink and a nod, up the chimney he rose He sprang to his Bus, fixed his seatbelt, and farted Then hit the ignition, and up they all started But I heard him exclaim ere he drove round the side Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good ride! :) Joel Walker apologies to Mr. Moore (original author) and Jim Finn (who adapted it for British Cars, 1992) ------------------------------------------------------------------------ From: nrubin@s1.csuhayward.edu (Martha Rubin) #4 &)../ |={~~NFS server screech not responding still trying Transliterated: Lesser-waka bang splat tick tick hash, Caret at back-tick dollar dollar dash, Bang splat tick dollar under-score, Percent splat greater-waka number four, Ampersand right-paren dot dot slash, Pipe equals left-brace tilde tilde CRASH. { } . ! / & ; ^ # - < > @ \ { } _ SYSTEM HALTED Left titty, right titty, dot bang slash. Ampersand semicolon, caret pound dash. Less than greater than, at back slash, left titty, right titty, under score crash. * # ! ! ( ' " . . DEL # ^G ! ! working... done. Star pound bang bang, open-paren. Tilde and pipe, close-paren. One quote, two quote, dot dot delete, pound bell, bang bang, process complete. ----- Here's an attempt to catalog the various punctuation marks and their possible transliterations: . dot end period stop point , comma uh pause wait / slash zip up ramp virgule shilling per divide(d by) ? question (mark) what huh < less lesser less than waka left point left arrow from > more greater greater than waka right point right arrow gives ` one quote start one quote ping | pipe (vertical) bar or \ back slash down ramp unzip : colon dotdot eyes ; semicolon commadot wink ' apostrophe one quote end one quote tick one tick " quote two quote (start or end) ditto two tick double [ left bracket left square ] right bracket right square { left titty left brace curly bracket brace } right titty right brace curly bracket back brace ! exclaimation (point) bang yell @ each at each at squiggle curly # pound (sign) hash number $ dollar cash money % percent ^ caret hat power hump exponent control (with letter: ^G) & and ampersand * star asterix blink ( (left or open) paren ) (right or close) paren - dash bond minus _ _ underscore not (if over another: A = not A) base + plus and add with = equal(s) same is double bond space tab -------------------------