The Fright Night Before Christmas, a Parody (with apologies to Clement C. Moore)
‘twas the night before Christmas, when through the White House, not a Clinton was stirring, not even that louse. Their stockings were hung by their foundation with care, in hopes more Russian rubles soon would be there.
The Clintons were nestled all snug in their beds, while schemes of collusion danced in their heads. Hillary in her pantsuit, and Bill with some babe, had just gone to bed for a long winter’s daze.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, Bill sprang from his bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window Bill flew like a flash, tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon, on the breasts of some brand new intern, gave the luster of midday to his women below, when, what to his wandering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer, with an orange-haired old driver so lively and plump, Bill knew in an instant it was Donald Trump!
More rapid than tweets his comments they came, and he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
“Now, Mueller, Now Strzok! and all of their homies! On, Huma! On Loretta!, On, McCabe and On, Comey! With an awesome eruption, with news of corruption, now, dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”
As Democrat accusations with no backing fly, when they meet with an obstacle, they just simply lie, so up to the housetop the coursers they flew, with the sleigh full of charges, and Donald Trump, too.
And then, in a twinkling, Bill heard on the roof the prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As he returned to his bed, and was turning around, down the chimney “the Donald” came with a bound.
He donned Brioni suits, with his own branded ties, and his clothes were all tailored to his exact size; a bunch of indictments he flung on his back, and he looked like a lawyer just opening his pack. His eyes, how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry. His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, and the grin on his face beamed as white as the snow.
This Trump of a man who just won an election, and yet the fake news went out with hateful rejection. The FBI and Democrats, all with delusion, to bring forth a tale of Russian collusion. He was Donald Trump, who had quite the nerve, to take on old Hillary, who soon will be served.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head soon gave Bubba to know he had so much to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, and filed the court dockets, then winked at the jerk. Laying his finger aside of his nose, and giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, and away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight…
“Merry Christmas to all, Merry Christmas, Good Night!”
-Drew Nickell, 16 December 2017
© 2017 by Drew Nickell, all rights reserved.
author of “Bending Your Ear- a Collection of Essays on the Issues of Our Times”
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