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 Lovett writes about freedom, firearms, and cigars (and everything else) at www.perrinlovett.me. He is none too fond of government meddling.