
'Twas the night before Kwanzaa, when all through the cave, the wackos of ISIS began to misbehave.


Their rear ends were hanging with special care, In hopes Allah would visit them over there.






When suddenly, with a roaring clatter, drops of liberal turds flew in a smelly splatter.

News spinning came in a hurried flash, As liberal sources ran in a panicked dash.


As Matthews and What's Her Name feel tingles and thrills, the rest of us feel nausea and chills.



