A TACTICAL SHOOTER'S CHRISTMAS
'Twas the night before Christmas, cold, dark and foreboding,
As I sat at the work bench, quite busy reloading.
The empties from autumn were polished so clear
For primers and powder, and bullets from Speer,
And Sierra boat-tails, and Nosler's Partitions
(My bench ain't no place for brand name omissions!).
All sat in their boxes, right next to the press
With dies from Midway, and RCBS.
When all of a sudden there came such a jolt,
I grabbed for my Mossberg and whipped out my Colt.
As I spilled Hodgdon's powder all over the shelf,
I scrambled for cover, just to protect myself.
From up on the rooftop, came hoofbeats and snorting,
Like the noise out of L'il Rock, from Clinton's cavorting!
I eased off the safety, to press-check my auto,
With 230-hardball, I'd knock 'em all blotto.
Were these rogue federal agents, sent by Schumer and Reno?
Or a staggering Ted Kennedy, in bad need of vino?
My question was answered with a knock, and some sneezing,
"It's Santa, you moron, lemme in there, I'm freezing!"
I flipped off the dead-bolt and threw the door wide,
To find St. Nick a'shivering, Rudolph by his side.
He eyeballed my Thompson, with a nod of approval;
"You're all set," he said, "for dirtbag removal."
"But this is no raid, we're not here to harm you,
Or persecute, prosecute or even disarm you."
Instead, said dear Santa, he needed to borrow
My .357, 'till day after tomorrow.
"It's okay," he assured me, with a hint of frustration.
"I'm enrolled in the National Rifle Association."
He showed me his card, 'twas a Life Member rating;
"I've had this since me and the missus were dating!"
"And you see, ol' buddy, I've gotten real nervous
Since Feinstein was elected, with a promise to serve us."
So henceforth as I'm out there, my presents a'stackin'.
"I want to assure you, I'm legally packin'."
"And my gift for you this year, should give you a hoot:
"I've told the Supreme Court to give Brady the boot!
"Now, Rudy and I must be on our way,"
He said, as he climbed back on the seat of his sleigh.
With the reins in his hand, and my Smith in his pocket,
He jingled the sleighbells and was off like a rocket.
With a pair of speedloaders, and ammo to spare,
I knew he'd be safe, he was loaded for bear,
As he faded from view, I could still hear him calling,
"From D.C., where 'P.C.' is already falling,
"To bad guys in L.A., Detroit and Atlanta:
"I'm licensed to carry. Don't be messin' with Santa!"