Santa Supports the Military Industrial Complex


I sat by my window on a snowy Christmas eve.

Another day of downturns, of losses and red.

'Twas the season to be jolly, but all I had was woe.

When outside I heard, "Have you considered a TOW?"

A jolly red arms dealer was parked in an alley.

Stood opposite a group of revolutionary sorts.

Admiring the goods that the Fat Man had to share.

A Stinger, a Starstreak, for all needs anti-air.

With their desires fulfilled and arms overloaded.

The jolly man counted his cash as he climbed into his Puma.

I threw open the window, this moment had to be seized.

I cupped my hands, shouting, "Where do you get all of these?"

"From, Lockheed! from, Boeing! or Northrop and Harris!

By, Raytheon! by, Thales! through Airbus and Dynamics!"

I raced to my computer and placed all my orders.

As the jolly man told of the visits he was to make.

An RBS-70 for the Separatists, first on the list.

An ArmaLite for those Irish who were still pissed.

Then a trip to the Gulf to support a dictator.

Armoured carriers, old jets and even a warship.

He was treated to a festival, but had to give it the slip.

For his next stop was the rebels, a nice double-dip.

A pit stop in Africa, swatting flies while arming a SWAT team.

Fortune struck, as he found a ship under attack.

The tanker's security new guns left them feeling real chipper.

To the frustrated pirates he chuckled, "Now here, have a Skipper."

Round east he would travel to beef up some navies.

Some old LCM-8s, with Zippo modification.

For China he fulfilled every amphibious wish.

And to Taiwan the solution – a Stonefish.

Back to America to pick up some new stock.

A detour through Mexico, to enjoy all the sights.

To rest his weary legs in the finest of hotels.

And later a meeting with old friends – the cartels.

I watched my stocks rise as his aircraft took flight,

"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good fight!"