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December 02, 2002

'Twas the night before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through Iraq
Not a weapon was firing, not even ack-ack;
The white flags were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Uncle Sam's men soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of freedom danced in their heads;
And mamma in her chador, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,

When out on the city there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a Scud,
Tore open the shutters, expecting some blood.

The flares in the sky, with their actinic glow
Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a camouflaged sleigh, and four big-ass mule deer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it wasn't Hans Blix.
In company with eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"On Warthog! on Hornet! on Phantom and Tomcat!
Don't fuck with St. Nick when it comes to air combat!"
To the top of the bunker! to the top of the wall!
Now bombs away! bombs away! bombs away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So right over Baghdad the coursers they flew,
That sleigh, full of Jarheads, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each mule deer hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in camo, from his boots to his hat,
And to and fro, in his hand, swung an aluminum bat,
A bunch of grenades he had stowed in his sack,
One he tossed into the air, then gave it a whack

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
As the grenades soared like hawks out of their eyrie!
Flew out of my window and across the street,
Forcing the Republican Guard to retreat.

The stump of a stogie was held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke of it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a big bandoleer, chock full of napalm
That he took out and rubbed on his mouth as lip balm.

He was muscled and svelte, a right deadly old elf,
And I cringed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his chore;
Pointing out Saddam for the men of the Corps.
"I know where's he's been sleeping, now so do his foes."
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and we own the night!

And when he'd drawn all the fire from Baghdad below.
The Marines he'd come with snuck in Saddam's chateau,
They left coal in his stocking, then cut off his head,
And left it beside Uday, asleep in his bed.

We awoke in the morning with troops everywhere,
passing out chocolate to the kids in the square,
Christmas trees in our houses, with presents galore,
And the word on the street was "Santa's hardcore".

Update: Those of you who care for this type of thing might want to check out the Iraqi Christmas Carol. Those of you who don't, well, forewarned is forearmed.

Posted by Bigwig at December 2, 2002 05:13 PM | TrackBack
Postscript:
First time visitor to House Hraka? Wondering if everything we produce could possibly be as brilliant/stupid/evil/pedantic/insipid/inspired as the post you just read? Check out the Hraka Essentials, the (mostly) reader-selected guide to Hraka's best posts, and decide for yourself.
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