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Friday, December 23, 2005

'Twas the Night Before Christmas...

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the compound
Not a creature was stirring, but the troops were all around.
Other trespassers were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that sneaky St Nick would soon see them there.

My Mercs were nestled snug in their hiding places,
With night-vision goggles worn over their faces.
And Sarge on the 60, and I had his back,
We had just settled in for our winter ambush attack.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang up in the bunker to see what was the matter.
The spotlights switched on with a great blinding flash,
While grenades and gunfire turned the woods to ash.

The volley of tracers flying over the snow
Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below.
When, what through the hail of flak should appear,
But Santa on his sleigh, with a look of abject fear.

That little old driver, with a hoarse scream on his lips,
knew he wouldn't survive this yuletime apocalypse.
His reindeer were nimble, but we led them and aimed,
And with our bunkers and snipers, they all soon got maimed.

First Dasher! Then, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen!
Then, Comet! And Cupid! And Donner and Blitzen!
With his team cut down the sleigh started to fall,
But still somehow breached the compound's outer wall.

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the sleigh the SAM missiles flew,
With the deer and St Nicholas facing imminent doom.

And then, in a twinkling, with sparks, fire, and a poof
Debris rained down, sleigh parts, guts and a hoof.
As Alpha got on line and Bravo flanked around,
Suddenly out of the wreckage came St Nick with a bound.

He was covered in deer guts from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
With a ripped bag of toys aflame on his back,
He was as doomed as insurgents against us in Iraq.

His eyes big as saucers! He stumbled, mumbled, and slurred!
Bravo began their assault without saying a word.
His droll little mouth was agape with fear,
And the beard of his chin was blackened and seared.

He held in his teeth the stump of a pipe, with a bend.
As the mercs opened fire, I yelled "This is the end!"
The "Ho-ho" stopped when they double tapped his head,
And his fat belly jiggled when they filled him with lead!

He was chubby and plump, and face down on the ground,
And I laughed when I saw him, Bravo neared with a bound.
But then a wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
I heard the spoon of a grenade, and knew Bravo was dead.

His body exploded- the grenade did not work!
It was blocked by his lard! The stupid fat jerk!
His finger was laying aside of his nose,
Surrounded by guts, bones, fingers, and toes.

I sprang to my feet, and Bravo gave out a cheer,
"The enemy is dead! We have nothing to fear!"
I said, "You can't trespass here without getting a fight!"
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

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