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Spooked in America

By Bob Woodiwiss · October 25th, 2001 · Pseudoquasiesque
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'Twas Halloween evening and all through the house, The martinis were stirring (you see, I'm a souse).

The candy'd been purchased, the Kit Kats and Snickers,
I dumped them in bowls for the treaters and trickers.
Though I have to admit I was pissed when I saw
The bars were no bigger than a toy poodle's paw.

With Mate in her wolf's mask and I dressed as Kruger,
We lurked in the shadows, for to scare little boogers.
When out in the front yard there arose such a clatter,
I suddenly lost all control of my bladder.
I looked and I peeked and I peered and I spied,
For a threat was inferred. (Or do I mean, "implied?")

The moon on the piles of the crisp, fallen leaves,
Told me soon I'd be raking, there'd be no reprieve.
When what in my night vision scope should appear,
But a terrorist cell, all in turbans and beards.
Then a spooky hobgoblin seemed to ooze from the group,
Yes, Osama bin Laden, the vile nincompoop.

He looked o'er his flunkies, then he started to call,
Some names of his grim and bloodthirsty cabal.
"On Ahmed! On Fazul! On Al-Zawahiri!
Abdullah, Mustafa, bin Ali El-Hoorie."
His minions un-safety'd their guns and advanced,
And solid joined liquid down below in my pants.

My mouth became dry and I started to quiver;
I chugged my martini (oh, to hell with my liver!).


These Halloween devils had me quite mortified.
I thought: Where's the cops? And the FB of I?
Instead of green witches and blue Power Rangers,
I'm white as a ghost with real feelings of danger.

In a twinkling the bogeymen spread 'round my yard,

Tromping hostas and asters with cruel disregard.
Their leader came forward, stepping up to my door,
With a look on his face I'd describe as cocksure.
"Trick or treat, infidel," in my face this was spat.
My martini responded, "Hi, Osama. Kit Kat?"

He pushed past the wife and me, into the foyer,

Such an odious scumbag (even worse than most lawyers).
His mouth, how sadistic! His cheeks, oh-so sallow!
His hands, cracked and dry, cried for lotion with aloe.
The beard on his chin was all pepper and salt.
And his lunatic eyes, well, those, oy gevalt!
A long slender face topped his bony physique.
He dressed like a soldier, not exactly trés sheik.
I guess I expected some flash, something gaudy,
Come on, after all, he's a millionaire Saudi.

A turban was perched on his head with aplomb,
And in his coat's pocket I could see a small bomb.
In his grip, a Kalishnikov, aimed at my belly,
A short burst of slugs and I'd be vermicelli.
This weapon he flaunted, just as if he were brave.
(Note: He smelled of bat guano; such is life in a cave.)

He spoke in a voice that was almost melodic,
The content, however, tended more toward psychotic.

"I am visiting homes on this Halloween night,
'Cause I'm scary and ghastly and normalcy's blight.
I want to disturb you and creep out this nation,
To recast my shadow and sow desperation.
I want you to cower, to shudder and quail.
Don't travel. Stay home. Oh, and boil all your mail.
Stop spending and watch your economy plunge deep;
Help speed the Great Satan to history's dung heap.
And thus shall I subjugate, sack and subdue.
The short version, infidel? Quite simply, it's 'BOO!' "

With the squint of an eye and the look of a skink,
Osama and henchmen scattered into night's ink.

"Now that cat," the Mate said, "was the blackest of blacks,
I mean, his bad luck just might give us anthrax."

Then we stood there, afraid, just as we'd been advised,
We trembled, we worried, stiff and immobilized.
The moment stretched long and the mood grew more heavy,
'Til she said with resolve, "Let's go buy us a Chevy." ©

 
 
 
 

 

 
 
 
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