T’was a few days before Christmas
A Loafing Christmas poem, but Chief Executive Loafer, Wes.
T’was a few days before Christmas, and all through the Land
Not a Loafer was stirring, not women or man.
The Beer stash was hidden with caution and care,
‘Cause they knew that the Loafer Claus soon would be there.
Ken had passed out, since he drinks way too much,
while dreaming of beaches and fishing and such.
With I in my flip flops, and Josh in his cap
All the loafers were loafing, not one I could slap.
When out in the Man Cave there arose such a clatter,
I jumped from my recliner to see what was the matter.
Away to the grill I flew like a flash,
Tore open the beer fridge and looked through the trash.
The moon o’er the bay and the green Florida grass
Made Ken in the lawn chair look just like a lass.
When, what to my hung over eyes should appear,
But a shiny new beach buggy and a big keg of beer.
A relaxed looking driver, so laid back an oaf,
I knew in a moment he was ready to loaf.
More rapid than eagles the Irish pubs came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
“Now Lynch’s! Now, Shaskeen! Now, Culhane’s…McCoys!
Line up some shots, the pints and tall boys!
To the top of the bar! To the top of the glass!
Now drink away! Loaf away! Fall on your ass!”
And I heard him exclaim as he went towards the head.
“Loaf while you can and sleep when you’re dead.”
Merry Christmas You Loafers!