Some of us may be taking a little time off here for the holidays, but that doesn't mean we aren't thinking of all the issues currently being digested over the Congressional recess.
Without further delay, then, for your reading pleasure:
'Twas the night before a holiday, when all through the House Not a creature was stirring, not even a louse; Moral values were hung by the chimney with care, To defend the Patiot Act, lest obstructionists be there;The bloggers were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of indictments danced in their heads; And the Senate minority, finally at rest, Had just settled down for delayed winter's recess.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, We sprang from our laptops to see what was the matter. Back to our keyboards we came from each coast, To logon to Markos and send him a post.The moon on the oil rigs and black, driven snow Gave the illusion of fair elections to objects below, When, what did our horrified pundits soon guess, But a miniature Bushog and a disfigured Congress!
With a little old driver, so lively and smug, We knew in a moment it must be St. Shrub. More rabid than wolves his neocons came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
"Now, Condi! now, Albert! now, Rummy! You clown! Out, Scooter! Delay! Cheney and Brown! Out, Miers! Wait--Karl's still here--to the top of the wall! Now, smash away! Smash away! Smash away, all!"
As provisional ballots before election winds fly, When they meet with a challenger, are thrown to the sky, So up to the House-top the hypocrites flew, With their arms full of FOIAs, and Dubya's wiretaps, too.
And then, in a twinkling, we heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each Cabinet hoof. As we drew in our breath, and looked cautiously around, Down the chimney St. Dubya came with a bound.
He was dressed all in branches, from his head to his boot, And his hands were all dirty, stained with oil, blood, and loot; A bundle of failed policies he had flung on his back, And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his message how glum! His ears strangely elfin; his brain stem was numb. His droll little mouth was drawn up in smirks, And the shape of his arms looked swollen with perks.
His words malapropos, his nose like a cherry. He recoiled as he saw the ghost of John Kerry. A fist he raised at that specter of reason, "Death to your patriotism; it smacks of treason!"
The stump of outsourcing he held tight in his teeth, And pollution encircled his head like a wreath; He had a broad agenda and a little round belly, That shook, when he cut dissent, like a bowlful of jelly.
He was arrogant and maladroit, a Right jolly old elf, And we laughed when we watched him run into a shelf; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, Soon let us know we had much more to dread;
He yelled, "Bring it on!" and went straight to his work, Slowly filling the body bags; then turned, like a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the ladder he rose;
He sprang to his team and gave them a whistle, And away they all flew like the smoke from a missile. But we heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, "Happy Raw Deal to all and to all, a good fight!"
Happy . . . whatever, one and all.