Jingle Bells Spoof Novels & Stories

"I want you right now..." Jingle, jingle. The damn bells were getting faster. I quickly hit the record button, calmly documenting it all. "Dante? Dante?" I called out, pretending to be anxious. "What? Oh, sorry, baby," he said, breathless, back on the line. "Bad signal. I'll be right up." "Okay. I love you," I said in my sweetest voice. "I love you too." The lie rolled off his tongue so easily, so practiced.

Not to mention lethal. “Did you know ‘Jingle Bells’ was originally written for Thanksgiving?” he countered. “Impossible.” She made a shocked face, her jaw slacking. He laughed. She poked him with the tip of the record she held. “The British Navy uses Britney Spears’ songs to scare off Somali pirates. I shit you not.” They were playing like this now? “The piano Freddie Mercury plays in ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ is the same one Paul McCartney plays in ‘Hey, Elvie’,” he countered, leaning into her face and flicking her little nose. “Hey, Elvie.”

the motto (mm-mm) Throw it back with no chaser, with no trouble (mm-mm) Poppin' that Moët, baby, let's make some bubbles (mm-mm) Puffin' on that gelato, wanna be seein' double Gotta do what you gotta Believe it We ain't got no plans to leave here Tell all of your friends to be here We ain't gonna sleep all weekend Oh, you know, you know, you know that's the motto (mm-mm) Drop a few bills then pop a few champagne bottles (mm-mm) Throwin' that money like you just won the lotto (mm-mm) We been up all damn summer makin' that bread and butter

Blaise strung lights across the balcony railing while Sam fixed the star for the top of the tree, pretending to grumble the whole time. Pizza boxes stacked on the counter beside mugs of hot cocoa and eggnog, half gone and getting cold. Beth had insisted on Christmas music playing nonstop, so Jingle Bell Rock was not a Jingle rap, mixed with Grandma got run over by a reindeer. Oh, the fun of it all. “Alright, last piece,” Blaise said, holding up the final ornament, a small silver bell engraved with the word Hope. “Who gets to hang it?” I looked at Storm. “I think he should.”

Their shrill voices rang to the gym's rafters, which had been strung with crepe paper, that fake spider web stuff, orange and black balloons, and construction paper bats and spiders twirling idly on long strings. Bill and Jeffrey roamed the booths, much more interested in the sexy costumes than in trying to guess the weight of a prize pumpkin, or buying raffle tickets that could win a year's free car washes at the Spiffy-Kleen, or even throwing aluminum pie pans filled with whipped cream and chocolate sauce at local bankers and politicians.

#JOHNSON_JUNIOR 🔞 #EPISODE_14 🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃 🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

Gabriel starts. I furrow my eyebrows. Am I remembering the wrong lyrics? "They are singing their own remix version precious." Greyson clarified. Oh. That's why. Jamison joined Gabriel singing their remix version. "Rudolph the red nose raindeer! Have a very shiny nose! Ssiiiiilleent niiiight! Hoooly niiiight." It was impressive that they even harmonize. "When will you stop mixing all the Christmas songs?" Ameera cuts them off.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤 Wedding bells! Next episode loading....

"Fo-ur calling birds... Threee... French hens... Twoooo turtle doves..." Then many voices all together... "And a partri-idge in a pear tree..."" Kirstie's voice, "What's next? What's five?" Michael, Mitch and Jenny, Haswell and his wife, all shouting... "Gold RINGS!"... Followed by gales of laughter. In the quiet of the hall, I stand, an ear cocked, listening to it all, then realise I'm smiling to myself. Should I join them again? ? They might expect me to sing...

The invitation arrives in an envelope thick enough to pay rent. Gilded letters spell out: The Harrington Foundation Charity Gala. I stare at it on the kitchen table while Maya twirls the envelope like it’s a wand. “A gala,” she says reverently. “That’s code for free champagne and judgmental rich people.” “It’s code for humiliation,” I mutter. “I don’t belong in rooms like that.” “Correction,” Maya says, pointing with the envelope. “You pretend to belong. That’s the deal, right? Fake it till you make it.”