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‘Twas The Friday Before Christmas

‘Twas the Friday before Christmas, when all through the Agenci,
Not an Agent was stirring, not even a martini.
The books were laid open by the elevator with care,
In hopes that client receivables soon would be there.

The Agents quietly settled, from Benitos well fed,
While visions of new clients danced in their heads.
And Nanc’ in her ‘kerchief, and Hooser in his cap,
Were scratching their heads in a little creative chat.

When out on the street there arose such a clatter,
They sprang to the landing to see WTF was the matter.
Away to the railing they flew like a flash,
Tore open the ‘cigs and torched up the stash.

The glare of the sun on Dinger’s car being towed,
Made them all shocked and pissed off from scene below.
When, what to our watering eyes should appear,
But a rather stout man, with a six-pack of beer.
With his draw on a Nerf gun, so lively and quick,
We thought in that moment, “He must be a damn prick.”

Alas, these coworkers were quick to blame,
But the man waved, and shouted, and called them by name!
“Now Sutton! Now Stephanie! Now Shaun and Stommen!
On, Martinez! On, Mitchell! On Mercer and McCarron!

To the top of the roof! To the top and don’t fall!
Now snuff away! Stash away! Dash away all!”
So up to the rooftop the co-workers they flew,
With their packs o’cigs, and some pretty good Scotch, too.

And then, in that moment, they heard climbing the ladder,
The huffing and puffing of the stout man, the height didn’t matter.
As we turned to each other, not making a sound,
Up the stairs came the man, in one freakin’ bound.

He was dressed all in black, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all dusty with ashes and soot.
A bundle of booze he had flung on his back
And he looked like a damn bartender, opening up his big pack.

His eyes-how they watered! His dimples how merry!
His mouth was all dry, his nose kinda hairy!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow
And the tip of his nose was as white as the snow.
The stump of a pipe Bogarted tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath.

He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!
We recognized him at once, as he approached from afar
And laughed when we saw him. Damn, it was Bret Starr!

A wink of his eye and a twist off cap,
Soon let us know our thirsts would be zapped.
He mixed up some drinks, went straight to work,
As he filled our glasses, this was certainly no jerk.

Our thirsts now satiated, our fears set aside,
He descended to the street, in one swift and steady dive,
A toast we all raised, sharing cheers and high fives.

We heard him exclaim, as he stumbled out of sight,
“Happy Holidays to all, and y’all have a good-night!”


Written by Patti Kittilstved of The Starr Conspiracy