‘Twas The Night Before Lynchmas
Dec. 24, 2015 (Mimesis Law) — In the spirit of the holiday season, I would like to do something a little different today. Something a little lighter. I know that there is massive injustice in the world, but if we don’t occasionally turn our attention to the good things out there, we risk becoming consumed. Everyone deserves a break, especially the good guys.
Me and mine celebrate Christmas, but we make sure to take the Christ very much out of it. Since we have taken such a strong figure out of the holiday, I would like to put an equally strong one in his place. There is only one person that I can think of who embodies the spirit of giving and compassion that this season is all about. Of course, I am referring to NYPD Union President and my own personal New Years resolution for 2016, Pat Lynch.
Over the last year, I have said some not nice things about Pat, and he has petulantly bullied anyone who would dare suggest that not every officer of the NYPD is as pure as the driven snow. I say we put all the bad blood (in my case, I called you a maniac who gets his rocks off by screaming at kittens, and in yours, the literal blood of New Yorkers abused and sometimes killed by their police) behind us.
So to kick off this holiday peace offering, I wrote you a song poem. You probably know the tune.
Twas the night before Lynchmas, like so many past,
Not a creature was stirring, except for the heavily armed squadron of anti-crime NYPD officers preparing to break down the front door with a blast.
The stockings were hung by the Chimney with care,
But even they would be seized as arrest evidence, because somehow, that’s fair.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While flash bang grenades caused a ringing in their heads.
And Mama in her underwear being dragged from her nap,
Had her question, “What the fuck?” answered with a slap.
When throughout the house there arose such a clatter,
But it was just New York City’s finest looking for more things to shatter.
Away to the living room I flew like a flash,
And arrived just in time to see them planting a stash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a fairy tale luster to this absurd shitshow.
When, what to my sleep-covered eyes should appear,
But the barrels of guns and more cops entering from the rear.
Their boss gave the order and the search was done quick,
They ransacked the place on the orders of that prick.
One by one, his officers, like henchmen they came,
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
Now Sully, Now Johnson!
Now Lopez and Carol!
On Franklin, On Reggie!
On Murphy and Darryl!
To that part of the room!
Over there by that wall!
I see weed in plain view!
Make sure to arrest them all!
He was stubby and plump, a right surly old cop,
And I laughed when I saw him, but then had to drop.
A wink of his eye and a nod of his head,
Had his goons pile on top of me like a ton of lead.
I demanded to know why these cops were even here,
As our Fourth Amendment rights seemed to be very unclear.
“We have a search warrant,” said the head of this crew,
But whatever it was based upon, I knew couldn’t be true.
The cops dragged each one of us out to their cars,
They filled all the handcuffs and attached our feet to the bars.
The captain then laid a finger aside of his head,
And I knew I would be sleeping in a precinct bed.
He slumped into his cruiser, gave his team a shout,
And they all gathered round, ready to finally clear out.
But I heard him exclaim as I rode out of range,
Happy Lynchmas to us, this ain’t never going to change.
I really hope you like it, Pat. I was going to go out and buy you a new box of shout kittens, but I figured you would want something from the heart.