It has been 3 years for me here TMR. This is my third Christmas with the TMRzoo.com staff and every year it gets more special. I love the way Kensington St. here in Philly gets into the holiday spirit. I am so glad TMR decided to setup our home offices here.
To give you the feel and the mood of what it is like here today at the TMR Offices, I have reworked the Holiday classic Twas the night before Christmas. Hope you like it here it goes.
Twas the night before Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas, and all through TMR
was spilled beer and vomit, it smelt like a bar.
The interns all clung to the toilets in fear
Securb would return with more vodka and beer.
The staff were all using their desks as their beds,
While visions of strippers danced in their heads.
And Hooch in his Vick shirt was sporting a beer,
was cursing the Eagles, Ried’s end was near.
When out in the parking lot there a huge noise,
It startled the interns, scared the shit out of the boys.
Away to the window to take a quick look,
we stared down the alley where the crack addicts hook.
The moon on the breast of hookers on crack
who work in the alley, most on their back
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
our homeless friend Willie, he was vomiting beer.
He wiped his toothless mouth, when he was done being sick
then tugged on his pants and adjusted his dick.
The stench became pungent the closer the came,
And he whistled, and shouted, “I’m king of the game!”
“Now Candy! now, Bambi! now, Roxanne and Cherry!
On, Angel! On, Porcha! on, on Donna and Sherry!
To the top of the dumpster! to the back of the mall!
Now hook away! hook away! hook away all!”
I rubbed with disbelief my red bloodshot eyes,
when I noticed a patrolman unzipping his fly.
I shut the blinds in the office to avoid being seen,
If the cop caught me peaking he would have got mean
And then a scream, I heard from the street
our homeless friend Willie seems to have gotten beat.
The cop didn’t help, he was getting his freebie
It seems Willie was caught stealing somebody’s TV
He was covered in bruises, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all covered with feces and soot.
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
All stolen goods he was selling for crack.
His eyes-how they twinkled! as he kept nodding out!
We all got a chuckle from gibberish he’d shout.
the drool from his mouth was reaching the street,
maybe a hit of crack would get him back on his feet.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a unshaven face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, his breath was quit smelly!
He was mentally ill, and needed some help
I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me the notion, one more hit he’d be dead.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to the pipe,
he filled it with crack, and gave it a light.
Just as we guessed he started to seize
he dropped his crack pipe and fell to his knees
The ambulance came and took Willie away ,
he had soiled himself I hear the driver say.
But I heard Willie exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas motherfuckers, and to all a good-night!”
