Zombie Christmas

My last poem…

Twas the week before Christmas when all through the house,
not a mouse was stirring, because they were doused.
No stockings were hung by the chimney we dared,
cause we didn’t think the world would be there.

Piper was nestled all snug on our bed,
in hopes that her owners soon would be dead.
With Steph in her robe and I in my hat,
we soon settled down for our last winter nap.

When out on our driveway bullets were splattered,
I sprang from my bed to join in the matter.
Away to the battle I flew in a rash,
threw off the safety and prepared to kick ass.

The Moons breasts were sagging a little bit low,
making the laser sights tracking too slow.
When what to my bleary eyes should appear,
but a truck full of rednecks with guns and beer.

They had a big old bad leader, angry and drunk,
I new in a moment it must be St. Punk.
More rapid with bullets his shots soon became,
his followers whistled and shouted his name.

Then in a twinkling I heard on the roof,
the prancing and pawing of zombies afoot.
I primed my first round and was turning around,
and killed the first zombie hitting the ground.

They were dressed all in rags down to their boots,
full of chimney ash tarnished with soot.
Bad ass guns were slung on their back,
ready to rock and ready to rack.

Welcome to the end of the world…

btw: The above photo was grabbed from my Twilight Vector video post.