Twas the night before Summer...

When all through the house,
Not a Dipshit was stirring,
And certainly not a spouse.

New outfits were hung in what passes for a closet with care,
In hopes that Gary will often get the fuck outta there.

Zero children were nestled all snug in their beds,
Assisting Gary's sugary visions of beachy decadence to which he'll be led.

Obama's got so many eating out of his lap,
But he best get used to a long summer's Clintonian rap.

The bitch in back with the weedwacker at 8am has caused MUCH a clatter,
And Gary will soon spring from his apt at 3am to tape a nasty note on the door that a neighbor's fucking pissed off at the oft-happening matter.

On, Dipshit! On, Rude Fucking Early Birds! Go, yonder, you vixens!
And everyone stay the fuck off the front porch, as you're driving me up a wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away, all!

I yearn to exclaim, night after night,
This summer's a BALL, you're doing me RIGHT!