FEAR AND LOATHING AT THE NORTH POLE OR FUCK CHRISTMAS OR A VISIT FROM SOME SICK FAT RAT BASTARD by Jack Tomas as Hunter S. Thompson copyright 1999 'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Kitchen Not a creature was stirring, not even Dick Nixon I had eaten the acid, So I didn't care that my dining room table had sprouted some hair; I had a quart of tequila between my knees, While I snorted some coke from off of my sleeve; I was sitting there typing, something about Slick Willy, and I was sitting there naked so I was quite chilly, When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I Grabbed my magnum to make some brains splatter!. Away to the window I staggered towards, Trying to avoid all these midgets with swords. I turned on the searchlight and looked all around, But I couldn't believe what I'd Fucking found, Was it the Mescaline, Acid or Beer that made appear But a Fire Apple sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer, Then I suddenly heard someone moaning, Some Crazy fat Bastard, I think He's Samoan? He pointed at his Venison engine, that looked pretty lame, And he Cursed, and shouted, and called them by name; "Now, ACID! now, MESCALl! now, AMYLS and COKE! On, CANIBUS! on ETHER! on, REDS and METH, give me a toke! Get up off your ass Or I'll slit your throats! We got to get in before they kill us like Goats! I would kill the rat bastard who sold me this Shit! He sold it to me for 5 bucks a hit, Was there really a fat Samoan outside my door? Stinking of Vomit, and Liquor and Whores? I was locking the doors, and grabbing my guns I was armed to the Teeth like some Burlesque of a HUN I heard I noise and I started to duck, When out of my chimney came that crazy fat fuck! He was dressed like some kind of Mexican pimp, He carried a knife in his hand that was limp; While the other one searched for a bit of support, He took out an Amyl and started to snort. His eyes -- they were so bloodshot! his face was so hairy ! He was like Spiro Agnew, and that's fuckin' Scary! He had vomit and cheetos crusted to his shirt And the beard of his chin was all full of dirt; The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath; He had a crazy face and a fat fucking belly, That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly He was A fat fucking bastard , a friend of Tim Leary, I could tell by his face, cause he was weakened and weary; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had everything to dread; He stabbed at some grapefruit I had on my desk And Grabbed an old Gym sock from my medicine chest, He filled it up with all kinds of Drugs, then he turned around and puked on my rug. He crawled in his sled, and turned up the tunes I started shooting as he flew towards the moon, He gave me the finger as if waving good-bye, "YOU'RE TOO WEIRD TO LIVE! TOO RARE TO DIE!"
nice i stole that from the post, hope you dont mind. well, you didnt write it so i guess you wouldnt... but anywho, my friends will undoubtedly enjoy it
