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A cautionary holiday tale

December 1, 2011

Twas the night before elections, when all through the lodge

Many creatures were stirring, it was quite the hodge podge.

The aprons were hung in the closet without care,

Much like the keys a secretary once left here and there.

The newly raised brothers, some smug in the head,

Didn’t realize that elections meant electioneering dread.

And a certain Past Master, prone to stuff like dees and like dat

Decided to himself, “I vill meddle in that.”

When in the Past Master’s room there arose such a clatter,

I heard a golden dolt exclaim, “OOOHH, nothing’s the matter!“

Away with some Past Master portraits he flew like a flash,

with one that he’d worship and the other, he’d bash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the lustre to the crappy Bustin and Kennedy sanctioned roof work below.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a pie plate belt buckle lout saying, “Now, y’all listen hear.“

With attempts at wit neither sharp or so quick,

I knew in a moment he was a felonious prick.

More rapid than eagles his supporters they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

“Now Bustin! now, Willie! Now, Walter and Joe K (hey, that almost spells joke)!

On, C. Don, Tommy N, RX Ron,  a Steve and some John Darlin’ folk!

To the top of the lodge! To the top of the hall!

We gonna take back the p’wer from Citro and them all!”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When the quad met with an obstacle, they’d simply lie, lie, and lie.

So up to the rooftop the coursers they flew,

With the sleigh full of stolen petitions and Past Master portraits too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of the quad’s cloven hooves.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the broken elevator shaft came the felon with a bound.

He was dressed  in a hat with a boot on each foot,

And his clothes were all specked with tree trimming soot.

A bundle of anonymous letters to mail he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a redneck , a hick, and a hack.

His eyes-dead inside, and his dimples-a frown!

His cheeks were bloated, his nose high and brown!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a grommet

And nothing spilled out except  much verbal vomit.

He looked like a stump, a Vienna sausage with feet,

Certainly not something that I’d want to eat.

He had a broad face and a big ol’ round belly,

That shook when he walked, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was chubby and plump, just like a redneck,

I laughed when I saw him, and said, “What in the heck?“

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Said, “Are you threatenin’ me? You wanna wake up dead?“

He spoke like a fool and spelled even worse,

His manner was abrasive, abrupt, harsh, and terse.

And giving me the finger while digging his ass

Brought to mind words like pig and disgusting and gross, rude, and crass.

He sprang to his wood chipper and to the quad gave a whistle,

Then up his butt they all flew  like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight,

“Happy electioneering y’all, I love a good fight!”

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One comment

  1. Good stuff. And true, that.



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