Tales Of The Gurrier

Well it’s that time of year again, the Season of Fearfulness is almost done and its time for the annual Christmas message. This year I hope you will enjoy my specially recorded gobcast. If you don’t want to hear my dulcet tones you’ll find the tale of ‘The Nightmare before Kesey’ below. Click here for the Gurriercast mp3 (3.2mb)

The Nightmare before Kesey

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a louse.
The mantraps were hung by the chimney with care,
In the hopes that St. Kesey soon would be there.

The Gurrier, I was nestled all snug in my bed
While visions of murder danced in my head.
And just as I settled down for a nap,
Having juiced up my brains with a whiskey nightcap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see who I could batter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Then the old shotgun through the window went smash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave sinister lustre to the dread objects below.
When, rising afore me before I could think
A deadly sled, and eight feral mink.

With a familiar driver, so deadly and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be that prick.
More rapid than the Luas his vermin they came
And it chilled my old bones when he called them by name!

“Now Poxer! now, Joxer! now, Anto and O’Toole!
On, Vomit! On, Stupid! on, Bono and Poole!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now smash away! Smash away! Smash away all!”

As kindling that before an inferno does burn,
When they meet with an obstacle, crawl up like a worm
So up to the house-top the vermin they crept
With a sled full of dread, and St. Kesey, I wept.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on my roof
The scratching and pawing of each little hoof
As I drew in my head, and was loading my gun
Down the chimney Kesey came at a run

He was dressed all in leather, and on his head was a hood
And his clothes were all stained with ashes and blood.
A big black sack he had flung on his back,
And he looked like the devil, as he advanced to attack.

His eyes-how they blazed! brows hooded and scary!
His teeth were like needles, and I said a hail Mary!
His big evil mouth was a horrifying sight,
And the beard of his chin was as black as the night.

The stump of a leg he held tight in his teeth
And the gore it encircled his gob like a wreath.
He had a dreadful visage and evil intentions,
For out of the bag, he drew devilish inventions!

He was massive and sinister, this bastard room raider,
And I shat in my pants, before my invader!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Filled me with a dark and deepening dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
And drew from the bag, a mewling grey jerk.
And laying him out with a blow to the head,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he fled!

“Enjoy the Wahlberg, that pox, he is cursed,
Another day in the bag and me head would have burst.”
As I turned and I saw the grey fellow was smoking’
He looked like that poor little creature from Tolkien.

Kesey sprang to his luge, to his mink gave a kick
And away he went, St. Kesey the Prick.
But I heard him expound, ‘ere he slid out of sight,
“Happy Christmas, yeh pox, you’re a dirty auld shite!”

Merry Christmas from The Gurrier.

This entry was posted on Friday, December 23rd, 2005 at 1:52 pm and is filed under Doggerel, Tales of the Gurrier. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.