Is It Friday Yet?

It's five-minute freewrite.
I've nothing to say
and not much to do
on this chilly white day.

My stockings are on,
and my pants are on, too.
It sucks to be dressed,
and the rhyming word's "moo."

For that's what the cows say
whether they like it or not.
They moo when it's snowing
or icy or hot.

And now Chris is talking
on the phone like any day,
and I'm only eavesdropping
because he's loud and "Wait! Hey!"

It's just about Christmas;
I've almost forgotten!
Forgetting a gift exchange
gift would be rotten!

Toothpaste or chocolate
or Winnie the Pooh?
Oh what should I get?
Oh what should I do?

For nobody likes
an un-well-thought-out gift.
Yet it's hard to be clever
and still to be thrift.

Can you help me, my readers,
with my work gift exchange?
I don't have good ideas—
but at least I have change.

Four pennies, a nickel,
three times, and a slug.
Not even enough
to buy someone a mug.

A five-dollar bill—
now that's something, I think.
But I was going to use it
at the ice skating rink.

This whole time I've grasped
for some terrible rhymes.
I know I annoy all my readers
sometimes.

But it's five-minute freewrite,
and nothing's as swell
as giving you all
just a small bit of Hell.