The Thing that Came Down My Chimney is Not David Lee Roth

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I heard the riffs first. Really dope shit. Somehow, even amid the mistletoe and the warmth and scent of drying pine from the hearth, I was right there at the drive-thru waiting on Onion Rings and laughing with my girlfriend about getting Baja Blasted. But something wasn't right. It was cold all of a sudden. A candle went out. There was keyboard, but it wasn't the fun shit. Wasn't the 1984 shit.

I saw the hair first. Blonde highlights for sure. But wet. Greasy.

Curly. Sammy Klaus was coming to town. Hagar the Horrible. Glampus.

I knew I shouldn't have bought stock in Tesla. After the coup in Bolivia I hung my head, knowing I was headed for some bad karma. But not like this.

The hair kept growing and suffocated the fire. There was a slight sufuric tinge but the motherfucker has that shit SHELLACKED. Hes like a seal jumping onto land: the dude simply does not dry out. I knew that waiting patiently on the roof 8 chilly groupies the color and texture of cedar mulch were standing around snorting excellent cocaine and drinking whatever flavored seltzer Cabo Wabo was dryhumping into your local tiki bar following the white claw craze.

I was waiting for more horror, more anguish, for Father David Lee Roth to come and save the day, but as the seconds turned into minutes and the hits turned into weakass power ballads I realized: the dudes stuck. I lucked out. My chimneys 55 inches in circumference.

And Sammy can't survive FIFTY FIVE.

After the coroner came and went I went on the roof and shoveled up some of the ol' diablo dust the groupies left off the solar panels. Left out a little pile for Dave next to some edible undies. And smiled.



Credited to dhays202 

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