T'was the Night Before Christmas

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Twas the night before Christmas
and I’m wide awake,
arraying the chimney
with beartraps and snakes;
the booby-trapped stockings
set with infinite care,
in hopes that fat bastard’ll
blow his hand off in there.

There arose such a clatter
up on my roof,
-and I’m sick of cleaning up
piles of froze reindeer poop!
I let loose a war cry
-a blood curdling scream-
and empty the contents
of my AR-15.

One two three four five
six seven eight nine
thumps from above tell me
I missed one this time.
“Oh Dasher, Oh Dancer”
cries a loud booming voice,
“LOBO this tears it.
You give me no choice!”

I empty a blast
at the source of the sound
-and another at a spot
I think he might bound
-but the fat man is spry
for all that it’s worth-
he evaded hot lead,
belying his girth.

Not a creature was stirring
as I reloaded my shells,
“I don’t want any trouble!”
I finally yells.
“Just leave all the toys,
and get the hell out
I don't want to send cops
on that long North Pole route!”

The back door exploded
in splinters and slag
and a blood-splattered Santa
in smoldering rags
was removing his coat
and rolling his sleeves
“This time,” says Santa,
“Only one of us leaves.”

We circle each other,
and I’m very alarmed.
I can’t believe
the size of his arms!
“Hey what gives?" I says stunned.
"You’ve been working out!
Where’s the ‘bowl full of jelly’
you trespassing lout?”

With a wink of an eye
and a twist of his head,
I know within moments
I will likely be dead.
Santa flicks his nose,
“You dumb blogging hack!
I’ve lost two hundred pounds
on my Nordic Track.”

"Old Mrs. Clause
must thing you're a riot"
I says, "and that Stetson cologne?
I'll bet she don't buy it."
"I wear nothing but Polo," he says.
"Don't even try it.
Now I'll pound you to pulp,
and then leave here real quiet.”

"If you think that's Polo,
age is taking it's toll,"
-that's when I did
a slick ninja-like roll,
and from under the sugar-plums
grab the control,
“Bring a knife to a gunfight?”
I says laughing. “How droll!”

Missile TOW missiles launched
from tubes placed discretely,
but Santa danced deftly
–they missed him completely.
One of them arched
so high and so true
It blew the poor neighbor’s place
clear out of view.

“LOBO let’s stop this.
You’ve blown up the Burkes!”
“To Hell with you Santa!
Those people were jerks!”
“I don’t understand
why this is unpleasant,”
Santa opens his arms.
“Especially since I brought you a present.”

“Really?” I says,
resisting suspicion.
I lower my bazooka.
“That was your mission?”
“Why sure!” says Santa.
“It’s from your mother.”
And when I looked in that hand,
he punched me with the other.

Electric pain flashes
all through my cap,
My nose must be broken,
completely smashed flat.
I stagger backwards.
“Santa, you’re dead!”
… But Rudolph, behind me,
clean kicked off my head.

It landed on a spike
three blocks away
and I could see where my body
dropped and lifelessly lay.
Up on the rooftop,
the reindeer all raised
to assume the mantle
of pulling The Sleigh.

As I lay dying
I heard Santa fly off
-and I spat blood and teeth
in my last final cough.
“On Dasher on Dancer,
and to Mrs. Clause praise!
-We need bulletproof vests
for the reindeer these days.”

Santa, still climbing,
resumed his long flight
-his sleigh silhouetted
against the cold lunar light-
and as it grew distant
and faded from sight,
I heard "Merry Christmas to all,
and to all a good ... "




... I dunno ... I couldn't make out the rest.