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The Ranger
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A little Christmas Cheer from Ole Ranger....Enjoy!!!
The DEA Christmas Poem
Twas the night before Christmas and I was a wreck...
How to live in a world that's politically correct?
Customs has my gear high upon their shelves,
"Physically Challenged" they were calling themselves.
And lifting conditions here at the gym,
Have changed alot and my cycle looks dim.
Four packages vanished without much propriety,
They think it's a crime against Society.
And equal employment has made it quite clear,
That DEA won't release my gear.
So Dancer and Donner, Comet and Cupid,
Fucked me out of my gear, and now I look stupid!
I had hopes of starting my cycle today,
But my " supplements " were deemed dangerous by the FDA,
And millions of people were calling the Law,
Because we want a body, perfect, without a flaw.
Second-hand smoke from crack keeps me frightened,
But gear is wrong because most are "unenlightened".
To show you the strangeness of today's ebbs and flows,
They look at me funny because I continue to grow.
We've written letters to the leaders of this great Nation,
Yet, they still have my gear, and I've no compensation.
And as for gifts...why, I'd never had the notion
That making a choice could cause such commotion.
Nothing of leather, not a thing anymore...
Nothing under the tree, so Thanks, ya fat, fucking Whore!
Nothing to swallow, Nothing to inject,
Nothing ya fucker, not one thing to expect!
No candy or sweets, they're bad for both body and tooth.
Nothing that seemed to embellish upon this awful truth.
And fairy tales...while not yet forbidden,
Are alot like my gear, and better off hidden
No baseball, no football...someone might get hurt,
Besides - playing sports exposed kids to dirt.
Dolls were said to be sexist and should be passe.
And I caused no harm to the bastards taking my gear away.
So when Santa stands here tonight looking disheveled, and perplexed,
The fat, jolly bastard better know what to do next?
If he tries to be merry, or tries to be gay,
He'll soon find out I'm having a very bad day.
If the fucker's sack is empty, if it's flat on the ground,
It won't be acceptable unless my gear can be found.
Nothing special is needed, just my gear tonight,
Give to us all, and make this shit right.
A gift that would satisfy - with no indecision,
So I can start my cycle and continue the Iron Religion.
Every race, every hue,
Everyone, everywhere...even you!
Better give me my gear, or I'll beat ya black, and blue!
And now to the fucker's who took my gear,
While this Jolly fat fuck is standing here!
Call customs and tell them to let my presents pass,
Or I'm snapping a foot off in St. Nick's hairy ass!
Ranger
The DEA Christmas Poem
Twas the night before Christmas and I was a wreck...
How to live in a world that's politically correct?
Customs has my gear high upon their shelves,
"Physically Challenged" they were calling themselves.
And lifting conditions here at the gym,
Have changed alot and my cycle looks dim.
Four packages vanished without much propriety,
They think it's a crime against Society.
And equal employment has made it quite clear,
That DEA won't release my gear.
So Dancer and Donner, Comet and Cupid,
Fucked me out of my gear, and now I look stupid!
I had hopes of starting my cycle today,
But my " supplements " were deemed dangerous by the FDA,
And millions of people were calling the Law,
Because we want a body, perfect, without a flaw.
Second-hand smoke from crack keeps me frightened,
But gear is wrong because most are "unenlightened".
To show you the strangeness of today's ebbs and flows,
They look at me funny because I continue to grow.
We've written letters to the leaders of this great Nation,
Yet, they still have my gear, and I've no compensation.
And as for gifts...why, I'd never had the notion
That making a choice could cause such commotion.
Nothing of leather, not a thing anymore...
Nothing under the tree, so Thanks, ya fat, fucking Whore!
Nothing to swallow, Nothing to inject,
Nothing ya fucker, not one thing to expect!
No candy or sweets, they're bad for both body and tooth.
Nothing that seemed to embellish upon this awful truth.
And fairy tales...while not yet forbidden,
Are alot like my gear, and better off hidden
No baseball, no football...someone might get hurt,
Besides - playing sports exposed kids to dirt.
Dolls were said to be sexist and should be passe.
And I caused no harm to the bastards taking my gear away.
So when Santa stands here tonight looking disheveled, and perplexed,
The fat, jolly bastard better know what to do next?
If he tries to be merry, or tries to be gay,
He'll soon find out I'm having a very bad day.
If the fucker's sack is empty, if it's flat on the ground,
It won't be acceptable unless my gear can be found.
Nothing special is needed, just my gear tonight,
Give to us all, and make this shit right.
A gift that would satisfy - with no indecision,
So I can start my cycle and continue the Iron Religion.
Every race, every hue,
Everyone, everywhere...even you!
Better give me my gear, or I'll beat ya black, and blue!
And now to the fucker's who took my gear,
While this Jolly fat fuck is standing here!
Call customs and tell them to let my presents pass,
Or I'm snapping a foot off in St. Nick's hairy ass!
Ranger
![[_Adrenaline_]](/forum/data/avatars/m/10/10575.jpg?1674491999){kind=avatar}
