The Knife Before Christmas....
(Title and opening verse by Comeuppance in post #1):
{'Twas} the night before Christmas
and all through the house
not a flipper was flipping.
Not even a Brouse.
*******
The sheaths were all hung by the chimney with care
in hopes that new fixed blades would soon reside there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds.
With visions of Benchmades filling their heads.
Momma with her Kershaw and I with my Boker
had just tabled them both for a Chris-eve of poker.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter
I fingered La Griffe in case something's the matter.
Up to the window I tore like an elf,
time for the Busse, grabbed it right off the shelf.
The moon on the crest of my new Balisong
blinded me 'til my night vision came right along.
And what to my wondering eye would a appear?
Twas a mini-Commander, eight more folders arrear.
With a fat little driver ensconced on the mini,
It was Santa for real--'cause he wore a Martinni.
Carrying Al Mar Eagles his folders they came.
He wrist-flicked one, shouted and called them by name:
"On Tario, go Buck, hit it, Schrade, move it, Swiss...
c'mon Ka-Bar, hyahh! Spydie, kick-it ESSE. Lead 'em, Chris !!"
"To the top of the porch...to the top of the wall.
Now slash away, slash away, slash away all."
"Look out for the lampost and don't hit the tree.
Blade center this thing or I might have to pee."
They cleared the old lampost, the tree got a rub.
Santa had a Junglass-- relieved, he feathered my shrub !
"The chimney's too narrow!," the fat one cried madly.
"Look in my sack and bring me my Bradley."
I heard on the roof the click of a detent.
He'd cut through the A/C and come down a vent.
As I drew my Mcusta and was turning around,
he stood there with a Strider standing his ground.
Once he'd cut in he went to our tree.
A box said "Cold Steel," it lay on his knee.
A bundle of knives he had flung on his back.
He looked like a knife shop, blades shiny, some black.
He spoke not a word, I saw he brought me a dirk !
He filled all our sheaths and then turned with a jerk.
He had SOG and Hogue, even ZT.
We looked on in wonder, he seemed filled with glee.
His droll little mouth drawn up like a bow,
he shaved a bit o' hair from his beard with my new Spydie Nightglow.
The stump of a feather stick he held tight in his teeth
as he waved his Endeavor and whittled a wreath.
A fire steel, a Tuff-Cloth, Blue Lube, and a strop.
A benchstone and diamond rods, with gift-cards atop.
He was chubby and plump, pretty proud of himself
as he found my new Protech and put it on the shelf.
A wink of his eye as he folded her Rockstead
gave me to know there was nothing to dread.
Saluting a Sharpfinger up aside his nose,
he saw me and nodded, when up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his mini-C, to the knives he gave whistles.
They lifted him off like ZDP missiles.
We heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight,
"Keep all those blades sharp, or I'll be back to fight !"
....something to work on. We need a poem in here.
Merry X-mas all
