And now, I present to you: Kim Jong Uns revision of Clement Moores holiday classic A Visit from St Nick, more popularly known as Twas the Night Before Christmas. © 2014 David Hacklebarney Twas the Night before Christmas, And all through North Korea, Not a comrade was stirring, Not even the Dear Leader-- The AK-47s were hung by the chimney with care, In fear that that the American Imperialists soon would be there; The children were straight-jacketed down in their beds, While visions of the Korean Peoples Army danced in their heads-- And Mama in her kerchief, and I in my Peoples Army Cap, Had just numbed our brains from reading the Dear Leaders crap — When outside the prison camp there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the rack to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the steel bars, and threw up the sash. Lenins statue casting a shadow on the new fallen snow, Gave the glare of oppression to objects below; When, what to my brainwashed eyes should appear, But a miniature rickshaw, and eight tiny, re-educated, Communist reindeer! With the Glorious Eternal Leader as driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be KIM JONG SUNG, that prick!-- More rapid than MiG Jet fighters his lackeys they came, And he orated, and dictated, and calld them by name: Now, Lenin! , Now, Mao!, Now Krushchev!, and Stalin! On Saddam!, On Hitler, On Osama Bin Laden!; To the top of the watchtower! To the top of the wall! Now goose step! Goose step! Goose step away all! With the rickshaw full of propaganda — and the Eternal Leader too-- And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The fist-pounding of despots, should I need any proof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney the Most Glorious Eternal Leader came with a bound: He was dressed in a Mao suit, from his feet to his head, And his clothes were all tarnished with the blood of the dead. A bundle of Little Red Books was flung on his back, And he lookd like a peasant warrior just opening his pack-- His eyes — how they seared! His face scars, how merry!, His eyebrows were singed, his teeth? Not so many! His crooked little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the snot on his nose hung in place from his blow. He had a rat face, his appreance falsely balmy , He was skinny and gaunt, a righteous old Commie! For I dared not laugh, for fear of my own head; Soon made me know I had everything to dread.-- He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filld the AKs with bullets, then turnd with a jerk, And placing his hands in a Nazi salute, While giving a nod, up the chimney hed shoot . He sprung to his rickshaw, to his mad drivers did he bristle, And away they all flew, like an ICBM missile : But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight — COMMUNISM FOREVER, and to all a good night!
Posted on: Thu, 25 Dec 2014 08:15:03 +0000
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