(A POLITICAL PARODY RIPOFF FROM “T’WAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS”—ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN 1823. My apologies to the poet Clement Clarke Moore.)
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the country,
Not a news org was stirring, not even the Fox News punditry.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
Fractured Americans all nestled snug in their beds,
While visions of Trump’s impeachment (or not) danc’d in their heads,
Women in pink pussy hats, and White Trumpers in their MAGA caps,
Had just settled their brains for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what the fuck was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Opened it and looked out on snow-covered grass.
A red-suited fat man stood down there below,
Stomping up and down as he yelled: “Ho, ho, ho”;
Then, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a spring in his step, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More agile than fairies, the reindeer they came,
As Santa whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now! Dasher, now! Dancer, now! Prancer, and Vixen,
“On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Donner and Blitzen;
“To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
“Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
Like an arrow shot from a bow does fly,
Santa, his sleigh, and bag did mount to the sky;
So up to the house-top eight reindeer they flew,
With the sleigh full of Xmas wishes—and St. Nicholas too:
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I pulled in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound:
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of gifts was flung on his back,
And he muttered like a crazed prophet while he opened his pack:
“15,413 lies in 1,055 days by my last Trump naughty tally,
“Should I skip the White House entirely and fly on to North Philly?
“And should I rent tons of U-hauls needed for all the coal,
“To be placed in the stockings of Trumpers who’ve sold their souls?”
The stump of a pipe he clinched tight in his teeth,
As angry smoke encircled his head like a wreath.
And he mumbled: “What to do, what to do, what to do?”
Then burst into laughter, and said: “Shit, I don’t have a clue.”
He gave off a huge sigh, that right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I heard him in spite of myself;
He was just as flummoxed as the rest of us,
Which made me think these days I needed someone higher to trust.
Santa shouted several phrases as he went straight to his task,
Filling all the stockings with word-gifts for which we’d asked:
“Trump Done in!”
And laying his finger aside of his nose
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprung to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew, like a North Korean missile:
But I heard him shout in his booming rich voice: “DO NOT FEAR:
Concentrate on the TRUE meaning of Christmas, my Dears.”
“IN THE NAME OF JESUS—the true reason for the season
Trump WILL be impeached and with damn good reason”
(“Mainly ‘cause God don’t like ugly, accordin’ to Black Folks’ teasin’s.”)
Then I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
“MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL—AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!”
Eleanor Tomczyk is an author and a humorist who is an award-winning voice-over performer. In 2011, she created the blog, “How the Hell Did I End Up Here” which features mostly satirical posts that have thousands of readers around the world—although she was recently banned in Pakistan (for real!). Tomczyk’s three books were featured in a recent book festival: “Monsters’ Throwdown,” “Fleeing Oz,” and “The Fetus Chronicles—Podcasts to my Miseducated Self.” Currently in her 70s and living life like it is freakin’ golden, she is a consummate storyteller and much sought-after motivational speaker. If you don’t believe me, just ask her!
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