A Prepper Christmas Poem (maybe not too good…)
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all in the retreat
Not a creature was stirring, but they had some alt-heat;
Survival stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Prepolas soon would be there;
The children were ready all snug in their beds,
While visions of paracord danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 511s, with I in the bunker,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s hunker,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I checked the trail cams to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew with my good ol’ AR,
Thinking the horde had gone just a little too far.
The floodlights came on over new-fallen snow
Illuminating any potential targets that might be below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But an old rusty F250, on the hood a fresh deer,
With a little old driver, tired and kind of grumpy,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Lumpy … whatever…
…moving it along now….
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The thumping and stumping of a man quiet aloof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Prepolas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in camo, from his head to his foot,
And he hobbled around then he stopped, just “Kaput!”;
A giant B.O.B. he had flung on his back,
And he looked much like John Rambo so I cut him some slack.
…yadda, yadda, plump, jolly…
Water filters, and seeds, and C-rations he gave,
Bear repellant too – make those critters behave!
Then he sprang to his truck, as I seen him arrive,
Said something ‘bout how we all must survive.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he bugged out of sight,
HAPPY PREPPING TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!
Photo by Ekklesia Raleigh.
My sincerest apologies to Clement Clarke Moore or Henry Livingston, Jr. or Santa. Whoever.
Now y’all get to bed!
-Perrin
Perrin Lovett writes about freedom, firearms, and cigars (and everything else) at www.perrinlovett.me. He is none too fond of government meddling.
