A Visit From Little Prick/'Twas the Night Before the Pot Game
(reprinted from 2009 with updated names )
(reprinted from 2009 with updated names )
'Twas the night before the Pot Game, when all throughout Keene
Not a golfer was stirring, not even Billy D being mean;
The golf clubs were polished and ready to go,
In hopes that all the best players would show;
The Pot Gamers were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of birdies and skins danced in their heads;
And Suzy in her G-string, and I in my Yankees cap,
Had just settled down for a quickie and a nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what the f__k was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up on the sash.
The moon on the dew of the freshly mowed grass
Gave the appearance to me of Suzy’s firm little ass,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a dilapidated old golf cart, and eight drunken Pot Gamers dressed as reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be that Little Prick.
More rapid than turtles his coursers they came,
And he tried to whistle, then slurred, and called them by name;
"Now, Timmy! now, BB! now, Sars and Bear!
On, Fireman! on TJ! on, BK and Who the F__k cares!
To the top of the clubhouse! to the top of the wall!
Now stagger away! stagger away! stagger away all!"
Like Loy’s 20 dollars that before the wild winds fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the drunkards they flew,
With the cart full of Mic Lights, and the Little Prick too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The F__kin Bear’s birdie call of woof, woof.
As I stood there bollocky bare ass, and was turning around,
Down the chimney the Little Prick came with a bound.
He was dressed like a golfer from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of beers he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a Pot Gamer who had just bought a rack.
His eyes were all squinty! His hat was on crooked!
His cheeks were all stubbly, He looked pretty snookered!
His droll little mouth was drawn like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was dirtier than snow;
The stub of his cigarette hung from his lip,
And the ash curved down from the tip;
He had popcorn stuck to his face from the bar he just left,
He had so much of it on him, it could be called theft.
He was little and tiny, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know it was not long before he was ready for bed
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all my coolers; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his cart, and called out to his team,
God help me I just saw Sr naked, tell me it’s just a damn dream.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"I’m still The Commish, watch out for the cart eating ditch, I’m not having a good night."
Photo By Elf Enterprises
