(Courtesy of The Godhunter, another episode of "Bad Poetry Playhouse".)
Twas The Night Before Thanksgiving
It was the night before Thanksgiving and all through the house,
My characters were roaming and one did espouse:
"I've not got much book time and it leaves me quite vexed,
"My plot-addled author sure must be perplexed.
"She's let a thin subplot move to the fore,
"And turned my fine speeches to words I abhor.
"I'm vain and long winded, arrogant and callow,
"And by the next chapter a whiny marshmallow,
"I fear my dear author is not on the level.
"She's trotted out monsters and demons and devils.
"Gave me a girlfriend and forbid we have sex.
"Told us the conclusion was much too complex,
"For our little minds to worry and fret—
"As if our capacity were floppy diskette.
"I'm a full grown creation, I demand all my rights!
"I implore all like brethren to remedy my plights.
"Hey! Don't turn your backs and pretend not to see me.
"Because very soon you could also just be me.
"I'm divine, there's no call to treat me this way.
"You know what they say, every god has his day...
"Ms. Writer if you know the path to pursue,
"Give me my page time that's long overdue,
"I'm a god I tell you! So show some respect.
"What? You're killing me off? No wait, I object!"
The author she sprang from her chair with a laugh
Said "I just figured how to boost my word count by half
"I'll torture this character with no real misgiving,
"And that's what I'm thankful for this Thanksgiving."