VPN Shariff Presents: A visit from Keal

    1008 1024 chriskeal

    ‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the blog,

    Not a creature was sober, not even Retodd;

    The Yoshis were hung by the chimney with care,

    In the hopes that Chris Keal soon would be there;

    DCS was nestled all snug in his bed,

    While visions of eggplants danced in his head,

    And Lisa in her straight jacket, and I in my cap,

    Had just settled our butts for a long winter’s crap,

    When out in the desert there arose such a clatter,

    I sprang from the basement to see what the fuck was the matter.

    Away to the window I flew like a bird,

    Tore open the shutters, and dropped a fresh turd.

    The glare of sun on the streets of East Mesa,

    Was enhanced by a can of cheap American cerveza ;

    When, what to my slanted eyes should appear?

    But a Toyota Prius, and a six pack of beer!

    With an anorexic drunk driver, so wasted with zeal,

    I knew in a moment it must be Chris Keal.

    More rapid than eagles his bloggers they came,

    And he slurred, and shouted, and called them by name,

    “Now Vegas! Now Robert! Now K1! Now Munkey!”

    “On Zippy! On Ras! On Lisa and Gubby!”

    “To the top if the porch! To the top of the border wall!”

    “Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”

    As dry tumbleweeds before the sandstorms fly,

    When they meet with an obstacle, like that MFA guy;

    So up to the border wall the bloggers they flew,

    With the prius full of empties – and Chris Keal too:

    And then in a moment, I heard in the street

    The thunderous steps of MFA’s diabetic feet.

    As I shit in my bed, and was crying in fear,

    Down the chimney came Chris, drunk on shitty beer.

    He was dressed all in denim, from his head to his foot,

    And his clothes were all tarnished in semen and soot;

    A bundle of methamphetamine was flung on his back,

    And he looked like an addict who needed some smack:

    His eyes – how bloodshot! His nose white with snow,

    His cheeks were emaciated, probably from doing blow;

    The stump of a meth pipe he held tight in his teeth,

    And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.

    He was skinny and decrepit like a 1940’s Jew,

    And I laughed when he said, “this is what drugs do to you”

    A wink of his eye and a diseased smoking cough

    Soon led me to know he was actually Jared Goff.

    He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

    Drinking all my dad’s beer, what a friggin’ jerk!

    And laying his finger aside of my bum

    And giving a nod, down my chimney he will cum.

    He sprang to his Prius, to head to the packie,

    And drove away shitfaced, down a dead end alley:

    But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight-

    “Merry Christmas to all, im drinking all night



    All stories by: chriskeal

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