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154

THE LIBERTARIAN ENTERPRISE
Number 154, December 31, 2001
YEAR OF TERROR ENDS

Ron Holland's War on Terrorism
"Twas the Night Before Christmas Story"

by Ron Holland
RonHolland@compuserve.com

Special to TLE

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the South
American flags were flying on many a house
Cars & trucks were decked out by "Old Glory" with care,
In hopes that Bin Laden would soon be killed in his lair;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
No thought about terrorists in their sleepy heads;
And Tami in her night gown sitting here on my lap,
We had just settled down for a quickie & long winter's nap,

When out on the deck there arose such a clatter,
My dog Lucky was barking so I jumped to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I stumbled over the trash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the Carolina-fallen snow
Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below,
When, what on the golf course in front should appear,
But helicopters & men in black I saw clear,

It was Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment that Bin Laden must have been licked.
More rapid than eagles his fighter escort they came,
And my house shook as he called out by name;

"Now, AFGANISTAN! now, YEMEN! now, SOMOLIA and IRAQ!
Then, IRAN! on SYRIA! on, NORTH KOREA you'll take that!
When you stand up to the Empire, we'll put you against the wall!
And dash away! dash away! dash away everyone of you all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When you mess with America we will bomb you from the sky,
So up above my house-top the fighters & bombers they flew,
With the planes full of weapons, and Rumsfeld too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The sound of armed men and this was scary proof,
Hell this wasn't a dream, and as I turned around,
Suddenly well armed federal agents came in with a bound.

One was dressed in black from his head to his foot,
With helmet & gun all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A pack and gas mask he had flung on his back,
He looked like a Nazi Storm Trooper & opened his pack.

His eyes -- how they lusted! his dimples how scary!
His cheeks were made up, God he looked like an old fairy!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the trimmed mustache on his lip was as white as the snow;

I saw a tear gas grenade he held tight in his teeth,
And then it exploded circling my bedroom like a dark, misty wreath;
I suddenly keeled over with a rifle butt to the belly,
My whole insides felt like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, this sorry old Fed,
And I feared for my family that we soon would be dead;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
And I looked for my gun as I had plenty to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Reading me my rights; then he turned with a jerk,
Tami put the pistol up against his red alcoholic nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his helicopter, and gave his team a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"SORRY RON, WRONG HOUSE AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!"

Tonight as we celebrate the birth of our Lord & Savior Jesus Christ, May we also remember the many who gave the supreme sacrifice. That America would remain a nation of constitutional laws & protections, Bush's "War on Terrorism" still doesn't mean we change our direction.


Ron Holland is a writer, financial consultant & Editor of Dixie Daily News and several other liberty oriented web sites.


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