'Twas twelve days before Christmas,
And all through the house
A creature was stirring -
It was NOT a mouse.
I heard it tear-assing
Throughout the whole place
And I got just a glimpse of its rump
(Not its face).
It wasn't an elf
Nor even a rat.
No, my dear friends,
It was BIGGER than that.
I chased it around
And I screamed just a bit,
Which is probably what caused it
To scuttle and shit.
I couldn't quite find it
Despite all my trying.
Turns out 'twas a squirrel
(The kind that goes flying).
I called for the workers
To come please tout suite
But I think maybe they all
Decided to eat
Rather than come
And provide me with aid.
By then, what a mess
That shit-head had made.
For three days they chased it
In the chimney and round
But only disaster in its
Wake could be found.
I cried to the agents,
"'Tis a serious matter!"
But they just assumed that
I was full of chatter.
I stayed in a hotel
Afraid to be home.
I mean, a flying squirrel
Could dive-bomb at my dome!
Finally, the agent and I
Talked. She said,
"I hate to inform you
We found the squirrel dead."
It didn't surprise me
Because the bait trap
Was turned on its top
And surrounded by crap.
She seemed quite surprised
When I mentioned the poison.
Apparently no bait was
Put down by the boys in.
And that's when it hit me:
The mouse from long past.
I put the traps down!
I killed the bast(ard).
I had to demand that
They close the fireplace
Because they were too dumb
To think of that space.
And now I am moving
To the building next door.
If I see any rodents
This place won't stand anymore.
Happy holidays. You're all getting squirrel pie.
