Twas the Night before a 99er’s Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; So why was it so quiet? I’ll tell you, I know, The house was repoed some six months ago;

There was no stocking, no tree, no hope, not a care, Which makes perfect good sense as there was nobody there; The kids were long gone; it was as if they were dead, You see CPS took them because of something I said.

Mama in her long johns and I just a cap, Had lain down in our tent for a long winter’s nap; When out in the park there arose such a clatter, I jumped to my knees and said, “Now what’s the matter?”

Out of my sleeping bag I flew like a flash, Tore open the tent flap and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow, Brought tears to my eyes, God damn it was cold,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a brand new limousine being guarded by queers, And out stepped a man looking sneaky and slick, I said to myself, this can’t be Saint Nick.

More rapid than eagles his lapdogs they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name; Now, Dasher!  Now, Dashell!  Now, Peloski you vixen! On O’Connell!  On, Reid!  On, Boehner now listen!

To Capitol Hill, to Congressional Hall, Now slash away slash away slash away all. As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, Ignore the 99ers and leave them to die,

So up to the podium like coursers they flew, shouting, Down with the poor and the kind-of-poor too. And all through the masses there was but one little cry, Can’t you people see that it’s all one big lie?

As I drew in my head and was turning around, He slipped in behind me without making a sound. He was dressed all in fur from his head to his toe, Like a pimp from Chicago in an old TV show.

A razor sharp stiletto, he held in his hand I said, You can’t come in! He said, Oh yes I can. His eyes, how they shifted as he whispered, I’m Barry, I’m here for your tent, now ain’t Christmas merry?

His ears were drawn ‘round his head and tied in a bow, Where did this guy come from, does anyone know? An afghan hash pipe, he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.

He rummaged my tent as he exclaimed, I’m not greedy, You just don’t understand, the rich are the needy. A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, I knew not to believe a single word that he said.

He made not a sound as he continued his work. I said, Go right ahead, and then turned with a jerk, I snuck a peak in his bag which was supposed to contain hope, When I seen what it held I felt like a dope.

The dirty, sneaky son of a bitch, Had a bag full of tax cuts, for all of the rich. With my possessions under his arms and the lie in his sack, He said, I’ll bid you farewell until I come back.

With a smile on his face he put some coke up his nose, And with a skip in his step up the plane ramp he rose. I heard him exclaim as he flew out of site, I’ll screw you more tomorrow, I’m done screwing tonight.

Merry Christmas 99ers!!