Monday, December 24, 2012

Twas the night before Christmas... modern style

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the flat
Not a creature was stirring not even a rat.
The socks they were drying all flat on a mat,
In hopes that Santa would bring a new gat

The children were all nestled all snug in their beds 
With visions of Columbine all burned in their heads.
Mamma with her lugar and I with my glock had just settled down in our one room flop.

When out in the back alley there arose such flame 
I grabbed my glock and was ready to take aim
Away to the window I flew like a bash,
Tore down the curtains and broke the glass.

The street light glared on the dumpster below
I could just make out, what looked like a crow
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but the pizza delivery guy complete with beer.

With a little old driver, towel on his head
I knew in a moment it must be Achmed
More rapid than sailors his curses they came
Damn Google maps, they must be to blame

Now with arm loads of pizzas his customers he called
Murphy and Johnson and McDonnell and all!
To the top of the stoop! To the end of the hall!
Get em while they're hot or before I fall! 

And then , in a twinkling, I heard on the stoop
The prancing and pawing sounded like a group.
As I holstered my weapon and was turning around,
Achmed knocked on my door, that familiar sound.

He was dressed all funny with turban and hat
I knew in a minute he was no rat
An arm load of pizzas he flung from his sack
But I had no money, he'd have to come back

His eyes how they glared blank as mack
you'd have thought he'd smoked a bowl full of crack. 
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
"You been drinkin again?" I said, "With that broad Mary?"

His droll little mouth how it looked rather queer
When I said what I did he gave me a sneer.
His kids he had brought they squirmed and slithered,
Mom must be sick and he'd found no sitter.

The cigar he held tightly in his teeth 
And he dropped ashes around, and about my feet. 
Tall and slender he was quite a sight
Must give bums and hobos a goodly fright.

But soon I realized there was nothing to dread,
He was neither a terrorist nor even a Fed.
But he spoke not a word but only a grumble
when he looked at his order book for which he fumbled.

As he rounded up his spawn, down the hall they did dash
He knew there'd be no tip I was out of cash
To the stoop to the steps they did race each and all
and as he drove out of sight he bellowed 
"Infidels you are all!"

What a strange little fellow.


BBC said...


Randal Graves said...

This constitutes aid and comfort to enemies of the state.

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