Baby, I’ll be your huckleberry
You don’t have to double dare me
When the world gets wild and scary
Count on me to be right there
You’re so extraordinary
Sweet like maraschino cherry
We’ll grow up and we’ll get married
I’m gonna be your huckleberry
~Toby Keith, “Huckleberry”
I wouldn’t do that if I was you, Mister. See, the thing is, you might upset Big George. And he’s crazy. There’s no tellin’ what he might do.
~Fried Green Tomatoes
Children, gather round! No retreat, no surrender; that is Spartan law. And by Spartan law we will stand and fight… and die. A new age has begun. An age of freedom, and all will know, that 300 Spartans gave their last breath to defend it!
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The extra shells were lain in the shell-shop with care,
In hopes that St. Crabolas soon would be there;
The Es were nestled all snug in their dens,
While visions of freeze-dried shrimp danced in their heads;
And Benny in his turbo, and Spaz in his hut,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s molt,
When out in the room there arose such a clatter,
Spaz sprang to the bridge to see what was the matter.
Away to the cholla he flew like a flash,
Climbed over the PPs and climbed up the branch.
The moon-bulb on the breast of the freshly-cleaned soil
Gave the lustre of midnight to objects below,
When, what to his compound eyes should appear,
But a large turbo shell, and eight tiny hermies,
With a big old strawberry crab, so lively and quick,
He knew in a moment it must be St. Crab.
More rapid than Es his coursers they ran,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
‘Now, Purple Pincher! now, Ecuadorian! now, Rugosus and Cavipe!
On, Viola! on Blueberry! on, Indonesian and Aussie!
To the top of the lid! to the top of the wall!
Now climb away! climb away! climb away all!’
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the tank-top the coursers they climbed,
With the shell full of food, and St. Crabolas too.
And then, in a twinkling, Spaz heard on the lid
The clawing and pawing of each little leg.
As he drew in his feelers, and was turning around,
Down from the lid St. Crabolas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in shell, from his eyes to his legs,
And his exo was bright from the food in his belly;
A bundle of food he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes — how they twinkled! his feelers how merry!
His claws were like iron, his color like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was hidden below,
And the shell on his back was as white as the snow;
The tail of a shrimp he held tight in his claw,
And the smell filled the tank as if it were raw;
He had a broad claw and active antennae,
That moved when he crawled like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old crab,
And Spaz laughed when he saw him, in spite of himself;
A waggle of his feelers and a wave of his pincher,
Soon gave Spaz to know he had nothing to fear;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the shells; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his big pincher aside of his eyes,
And giving a nod, up the cholla he rose;
He sprang to his shell, to his team gave a wiggle,
And away they all climbed like the down of a thistle.
But Spaz heard him exclaim, ere he climbed out of sight,
“HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!”
