'Twas the Night Before Monday
May 6, 2011
Posted by SarahDMZ
|Osanta bin Laden
'Twas the Night Before Monday
(Or, My Neighbor Was an Ass)
by Rob Laurich
Twas the night before Monday, when all through the house,
Something happened nearby, to my neighbor, the louse.
He looked Middle Eastern, perhaps Arab or Turk,
And he loafed 'round the place, never seeming to work.
His features were wooden, as if carved on a lathe,
And he smelled like a camel that hated to bathe.
Always wearing a night shirt, head wrapped in a shawl,
Just imagine an ass that's seven feet tall.
He was never too friendly and often made threats,
But what I found so strange was - he kept lots of pets.
A llama named "Reggie", a goldfish called "Shelton"
His cat "Mr.Peepers", a Shar-Pei named "Elton".
Mere minutes before, I'd come back to the compound
With takeout, brought fresh, from Abbottabad's Ground Round.
Giant sandwich in hand, stuffed with Bar-B-Q'd Pork,
I sat in bed eager to watch reruns of 'Mork'.
When I heard a soft "thumping" outside of my place,
Slowly opened my curtains to check out the case.
I gazed over the courtyard and what did I spy,
There, twenty-four shadows dropped right out of the sky.
I almost couldn't see them, just dark moving spots,
Like angels of vengeance - and that's when I heard shots.
I lept like a sissy, as if I were from France,
I spit out my sandwich and damn near crapped my pants.
One man kicked my door open, still fresh from the fight,
Sensed I wasn't a threat and said "Have a good night."
He was dressed all in camo, face covered with paint,
He looked like a bad-ass, but with eyes like a saint.
To my neighbor's apartment, I started to sneak,
Stuck my head in his bedroom to catch just a peek.
There stood more warriors, all content with their labor,
Each one of them hovering over my neighbor.
His body lay face down with nary a movement,
Two holes in his face, which I deemed an improvement.
(Now don't think me racist because I'm a honky)
He looked like a bloody turd, left by a donkey.
And as these brave soldiers assessed this bleak drama,
The lot of them whispered "This must be Osama!"
Some DNA samples were taken to match-up,
Like blood work, some chin hair and shirts stained with ketchup.
They processed those whiskers of which they had just sheared,
So shocking the filth was, that they found in his beard.
For in it were traces (like brewed by a demon),
Of snake urine, goat poop and marmoset semen.
Then they suddenly grabbed him and ran out the door,
Again they moved quickly, not a creek from the floor.
Like smooth 'easy riders', they left in their chopper,
(But way cooler looking than Fonda and Hopper.)
They flew away fast with that man they did slaughter,
And dumped his corpse, gingerly, over the water.
For these men, getting credit is never the goal,
'Cause they strike, then they split - that's how THEY freaking roll.
So listen up creeps, if you're not on the level,
The U.S. breeds soldiers who don't fear the Devil.
And even if next week high water or hell come,
Osama Bin Laden is dead, World - YOU'RE WELCOME!