Twas the Night Before Christmas

Via the Real Gun Guys:

‘Twas the night before Christmas,
cold, dark and foreboding,
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 Hornady´s soft-points, 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 Pacific, and RCBS,
when all of a sudden there came such a jolt,
I grabbed for my Benelli 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-talons I’ll 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 A.K. with a nod of approval
“You’re all set,” he said, “for dirtball removal.”

“But this is no raid, we’re not here to harm you
nor persecute, prosecute, nor even disarm you.”
“Instead,” said dear Santa, “I needed to borrow
your .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, Dave, 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 in his sleigh.
With the reins in his hand and my Colt 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 go messin’ with Santa!”