Bring Back My Bell To Me, To Me!

I know this is not a death story about GA but it does have dangerous aspects and the sheep of the Erin's Sleepy Sheepy Resort fully support my detour. So deal with it, it is a serious matter.

As some of you may or may not know the GROK lab stole my life force a few months back. Yes that is right, my bell. (moment of silence). I realized my bell was gone after a very dangerous and deadly three round drag out, grip taking, floor rolling, chair crashing, wrestling match that I found myself not victorious. I had almost given up hope until today when Beth gave me the opportunity to regain my rightful place as bell owner.

She wrote “I think the ransom [of my beloved bell] should be based on who can write the best parody song (music of your choice) utilizing the words: Kris, bell, GROK, sheep, Geb, t'was (or other similarly underused contraction), and kumquat”

Here is my winning entry:

Twas the night before December 16, and all through the lab
Not a creature was stirring, not even an undergrad.
The boobs were drying in the basement with care,
In hopes that Geb soon would be there.

The grad students were grumpy all shrugged at their desks,
While visions of video games danced on their screens.
And Justin in his jacket, and I in my cap,
Had just lost our brains in the long-winded class.

When over on Kris's desk there came such a ring,
I sprang from the desk to see what it could be.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the candy drawer and threw up in the trash.

His hand on the breast of the new-dried silicon
"Hey Mikey keep your crap in the basement below!"
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature silver looking sphere.

With a little old dinger, so lively and loud,
I knew in a moment it must be MY BELL!
More quickly than eagles his Hellions came,
And Kris whistled, and ran, and I shouted them by name!

"Now Justin! now, Jamie! now, Mikey and Beth!
Come On! Come On! Give my bell back!
To the top of the filing cabinets! to the bottom of the book case!
Come back! Come back! Don't make me get my mace!"

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof top terrace
The awkward silence of undergrads sitting on their derriereious
As I drew in my head a picture of a tortured lab,
And they came, the kids that were bad.

They were dressed all in mischief, from their heads to their toes,
Ringing my poor, poor little bell.
I want it back and am sick of the story.
So just give me my bell or else I'll make you watch Maury.

So vote for me, bell owner extraordinaire and a pretty dam good poem writer if I must say. Thank you for your support.