’Twas the night before xmas, and all through Trump Tower
The underlings dreaded the Three AM hour
They knew that their boss, on his gold-plated shitter
Was busy composing some insult on Twitter
(Since no one would dare to sequester his phone
While he sat on his crapper, he’s safely alone)
And no one—not family, and not secret service—
Could stop him (which made all the underlings nervous).
Where was I?—oh, yes, Christmas Eve at Trump Tower
Where various factions all grappled for power
A real-life edition of Trump’s “The Apprentice”
Where simply to play means you’re non compos mentis
And now, Xmas eve, with the contest on pause
(In observance of upcoming blasphemy laws)
The underlings trembled, and shivered a bit
With their boss trolling Twitter while taking a shit.
’Twas the night before xmas, and all ‘round the dump
Every creature was panicked, and scared about Trump
While running the race had been nothing but fun
Trump had quite unexpectedly, frighteningly, won!
Now an odd coalition of petulant factions
Was tasked with converting Trump’s words into actions
From the loud “lock her up!” to the bold “build that wall!”
Every promise he made, now he’s breaking them all.
On this night before Christmas, the nation is scared;
We can’t know what’s coming; we can’t be prepared
The rules have been broken; the process is busted;
The old checks and balances, no longer trusted
(Though some hold out hope; they see probable cause
For some magic, from Santa Emolument Clause)
In a season of hope, this year danger forbodes
(And let’s not even mention the nuclear codes)
This night before Christmas, let’s not give up hope
Though the dangers are many, and global in scope
It’s going to be hard, but by working together
This might be a storm that the nation can weather
It’s not Christmas magic, but old-fashioned labor
That gets the job done, of protecting each neighbor
We don’t have much time, so it’s time to unite:
Merry Christmas to all, and let’s keep up the fight.
chigau (ever-elliptical) says
gods help us, everyone.
’Twas the month before Christmas: through the whole universe,
Stupid buggers were reciting this horrible verse.
Its rhymes were pathetic; its scansion was worse.1
And I couldn’t help thinking it should go in reverse
As Dan Chaucer would say, up the re-citers erse!
1 Dan’s pronunciation disyllabic, (which was something like ‘ersë’)
Means that line should end (ungramatically) ‘worser’
Classic. Spot on.
Merry Banarama to yoik the line from Jim Wright. Happy Sol Invictus and Hannukkah and whatever else one chooses to celebrate and enjoy with family and friends this year and next unto y’all. There’s never been a year I’ve been happier to see the back of whilst also so dreading what the next year may bring but cheers and my best wishes to everyone here & thanks again to Digital Cuttlefish.