Friday :: Dec 23, 2005

A Visit From St. George, Alas


by larre

‘Twas the night before Christmas and through all the land
Not a cell phone was private; dissent was all banned.
Constitutions were burning like logs in a fire
My head was inflamed with a lust for Empire.
Laura wore vestments, and I a King’s gown.
We’d just settled down to watch L’Affaire Thomas Crown.

When out on Penn Ave there arose such commotion
To the West Wing I stumbled, in drunk locomotion.
Away to Dick Cheney I flew like a flash,
To grab at his coattails, throw up on his sash.

Even the Moonies who publish Wa-Times
Were urging Impeachment with clamorous chimes.
Then what to my black beady eyes did appear?
But Patrick Fitzgerald, with indictments I fear.
The grand jury had acted so lively and quick
I knew in a moment the charges would stick.

More rapid than Rumsfeldian lies did they come
While Fitzgerald growled and called me a bum.
“Now, Shrubbie! Now, Bushie! You’re worse than Dick Nixon!
“Go, Georgie! Quit, Chimp-face! You'll soon be a con.
“To the floor you should drop, now assume the position!
I’m here to arrest you and that is my mission.”

As FEMA men sleep while wild hurricanes roar,
And as fast as my tax cuts made deficits soar,
Bechtel and Halliburton, now and anon,
Will be looting the Treasury ‘til everything's gone.
But now, in a twinkling, handcuffs snapped in place
(Wiping that silly smirk off my face).
And I heard something stirring in Capitol halls:
Someone in Congress had finally grown balls.

Specter was holding a Judicial hearing.
Both sides of the aisle were fervently cheering.
Snowe pointed her finger, "So where is Ossama?"
Whimpering softly, I asked for my Mama.
“You betrayed our Forefathers,” Russ Feingold accused,
“And subverted our freedoms. We won’t be abused.”

My eyes – how they narrowed! My tongue grew so dry.
I blinked back the tears and wanted to cry.
“Give me a lawyer!” I said. “It's my right.”
Whispered Condi, “You canceled that, George, t'other night.”
“Now, wait just a minute,” I pleaded again.
“Remember who runs things if I’m in the pen.
Dick Cheney, that’s who. There’s no scarier thought.
Like it or not, I’m the best that you’ve got.”

They spoke not a word, but performed their good works,
Impeaching us both because we’re such jerks.
We were sentenced to replace all the troops in Iraq
'Cause Cheney and I’d been the Chickenhawk claque.

As the prison plane taxied 'fore leaving D.C.
A band started playing ‘Hail Chief, Hillary.’
Inside of my head, I can still hear the singers:

"Happy Holidays to all – except for Right Wingers.”

larre :: 6:06 AM :: Comments (10) :: TrackBack (0) :: Digg It!