Saturday, December 24, 2011

T'was the night before Christmas and all through the Mosque

T'was the night before Christmas and all through the Mosque
Not a hajji was stirring, as their houses were tossed.

Blackfive was posting gibberish, his search bar was down,
He'd been drinking all day and was wearing a gown.

Jimbo was smiling, an ear-to-ear affair
He'd just edited his Chrismas video in Yellow underwear.

CV, our CV, was playing Warcraft,
As his mother in law looked at Caro and laughed.

Taco was flying to some Caribbean locale,
Doing barrel rolls in Boeings to the delight of his pals,

Our Carrie was at home alone, once again...
She's been drinking, as usual, and out with her friends.

Maggie was blotto, the cancer remised,
She knew she was gonna stay wicked pissed.

Marcus was out dropping resumes and job hunting,
Which is hard to do when all you wear is Christmas bunting.

Jacki was packing her apartment (and she'd better)
She's a plane to catch, to get to warm weather.

All the other milbloggers took time to lament,
The POTUS' Hawaiian vacation, while breathing words of concern,
Of our troops withdrawals--from the places they'd been sent,
Now Home to an economy in shambles and no way to make rent.

As Greyhawk remembered, he'd seen this before,
The first time he served, in the Great World War.

But where was I? It was Hajji, and his mortar attack,
Or was it IEDs, or poppy seeds to crack?

Their mortars were hung by the tubes without care
With hopes to Allah that these rounds weren't flares.

The Afghans were sleeping in their mud-huts on rugs
And their hair and their bodies all crawled with bugs.

I in my Kevlar and CJ in his fart-sack
Had just settled down, in our own separate racks. (Don't Ask!)

When out on the FOB there arose such a clatter,
Neither one of us really cared to find out what was the matter.

The mortars! They landed, without roar or great flash
In the shit pond out back, they just made a splash.

The moon shining above, o'er the mountains so close,
We saw the launch site from where the rounds rose.

We waited a while for our night vision to clear,
And ran to the TOC to send out some American Cheer:

On Apache! On Kiowa! On Shadow! On Reaper!
Let's show these assholes whose missiles dig deeper!

Call in The big green airplane called Puff!
Let's scatter to the winds all of their stuff!

Counter-battery rounds we did fire and fire,
Sending Mohammed to Allah in a funeral pyre.

The QRF was out shooting, and the TOC spun up too,
I sat with my feet up, knowing full well the Taboo.

The hours dragged on and the body count rose,
When lo, to my nostrils! The heaven it knows!

Ham sandwiches were served, and pork chops wrapped in bacon
Oh but for a beer my tummy was aching.

But alas, there's no beer, it's more dangerous than a gun,
To violate General Order number One!

Where was I? Back to Hajji, the guy shooting at us--
We'd dropped all our bombs and kicked up lots of dust.

The all-clear was sounded, we all breathed relief,
When a tiny fat man came out with a beef.

My camera won't focus, there's spiders, my twinkies were swiped!
I heard someone wanted to piss down my wind pipe!

I feel threatened! I'm scared, my job is so hard,
I once caused the downfall of General Menard!

I'll sue you, and you, and you too!
It's slander you bastards, I never sniffed glue!

I don't sleep with Thai boys (their high charges and such)
And my tip jar is empty, lies and half-truths don't sell much.

I'll cause controversy and investigations and I'll slander some folks!
(I hope by New Years I can sit again; I've had so many pokes.)

I tuned out the fat man, Shook my head and walked away,
I really don't care what he had to say.

He says he spent more time in Rock pile that Hamid Kharzai,
I'm not really sure, but I think that's a lie.

Back to my bunk, in my dusty worn bed,
I took my pills and closed my eyes to rest my head.

I knew that come morning there'd be no presents here,
But I'm glad for my family and friends, and to spread Christmas Cheer.

I miss my family, it feels like forever I've been gone,
While in this war we are really but pawns.

And Oh by the way, Fuck You, Mike Yon.

-- Chuck

Welcome This Ain't Hell readers!

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