Posted 1 year ago on Dec. 24, 2011, 10:30 a.m. EST by Carlitini99
This content is user submitted and not an official statement
It was the night before Wall Street, when all through the Zucotti Park, not a creature was stirring, except for the drunks in the dark. The tents were hung by the trees without care, with hopes that Starbucks bathrooms soon would be opened and be shared. The bums, anarchist, and students were nestled all snug in their bags, while visions of dead bankers danced in their crazed heads. And Mama in her Che t-shirt‘ , and I in my Mao cap, were drugged out of our brains, ready for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my tent to see what was the matter. Away to the tree I went to hide my stash, first tore open the package quick as a flash. The search lights where on and I dove into the snow, in hopes that the cops didn’t see my blow,
When what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature Francis Fox Piven in tiny snow gear.
Looking a little old, and a bit like my pop
I knew in a moment it was not the cops.
She spoke not a word, but stuck out her thumb
And told me that me and my friends where useless, and dumb
And flipping me the finger aside of her nose And giving a nod, screamed ‘up your ass you bozos’. She sprung to her car, to her team gave a whistle, And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle: But I heard her exclaim, ere she drove out of sight, 'I’ve seen what I need to make my mind up tonight.' ‘You’ve ruined my revolution I ‘m giving up on you geeks. So Happy Christmas to all, I’m joining a Wall St Firm next week