In 1823 an anonymous poem was published called, 'A Visit From St. Nicholas'. It was credited to Clement Clarke Moore, a professor of literature and biblical scholar. The poem later became known as,''Twas The Night Before Christmas', arguably the most famous Christmas poem, or any poem, of our time.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43171/a-visit-from-st-nicholas
But times have changed. The news media these days is obsessed with the misdeeds of our elected president, Donald Trump, and the shenanigans of politics in general. It’s all they report about. Watching the news, you’d think there were only two kinds of people in the world, those who lie and those who make a living off lying. Coming to grips with this social/political phenomenon is a challenge. Humor is the only way out.
Personally, I don’t like silly parodies of someone’s serious and beautiful work, especially, a time-honored classic like ''Twas The Night Before Christmas', and especially, when applied to a contemporary political or social issue for banal humorous amusement. I'm no Weird Al Yankovic.
However, for me, humor is always the only way out. So, forgive me, but here goes.
A Visit From St. Dick
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the House not a congressman was stirring not one dirty louse. They were all long gone and on holiday break, while from the American people their paychecks they’d take.
Down south, nooses were hung on oak trees with care, in hopes that senator Cindy Hyde-Smith would attend with her enthusiastic front row flair.
The white folk were nestled all snug in their beds, with visions of black folk looting with guns knives and dreads.
With Obama now gone and Trump in his place, America had just settled in for a long cold embrace. When out on the South Lawn arose such a clatter, I turned on CNN to see what was the matter. It was “Breaking News” so I turned up the sound, there was Wolf Blitzer he was wearing a frown, I knew in a flash he wasn’t fooling around.
The video feed was as clear as a bell, there was no mistaking about this story to tell. Kellyanne Conway before my eyes would appear, in an elf suit polishing a big red sled, drinking a bottle of beer.
Then her employer lumbered into the frame, we all knew him by his ill-gotten fame. I knew in a moment it must be Don Trump, you could tell by his hair and his slow-witted slump.
Reporters shouted questions without much refrain, as Trump cursed and shunned them with his usual disdain, calling them rudely and each by their name.
“Hey, ACOSTA! hey, PHILLIP! hey, RYAN and ALCINDOR! You’er the enemy of the people, Serge KOVALESKI, Megyn KELLY, Cecilia VEGA and Wolf BLITZER!”
To the top of the hour with just one commercial break, news cameras recorded the journalists as they stood in his wake. With wild crazy eyes and a red Santa suit, no one suspected Trump’s devious pursuit.
As much as this scene was peculiar to view, what happened next turned Wolf Blitzer blue. From the White House West Wing Rose Garden gate came browbeaten congressmen their count was just eight.
They hitched up to the sled and with a joyless loud cry, ‘The Donald’ commanded them to fly up into the sky. “My time is a wastin’ get into that hitch, I’ve got pardons to deliver and more tax breaks for the rich!” ...
... “Now, MCCONNELL! now, MURKOWSKI! now, HATCH and MIKE LEE! On, SCHUMER! on, LINDSAY! on, FLAKE! and PELOSI! To the top of the Smithsonian, to the National Mall, now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
“I’ll make Christmas great again, you’ll see, you’ll see!”, they all silently laughed at him except Utah’s Mike Lee.
They pulled and they tugged and they tried to gain ground, but the sleigh was too heavy and they remained earth bound. But Trump was determined that this night he would fly, so he did what he always does, he concocted a lie.
Trump made them complicit in his Christmas Eve farce, but they didn’t like lying for his silly fat arse. He had them over a barrel what on earth could they do, so they lied and they lied ‘til they convinced themselves that they flew.
There were no toys for the kids that was never his plan, Trump just wanted headlines to say that he was a really great man. So he made up the story and it went like this, but behind his back the congressmen would silently boo and hiss.
He said he flew through the sky, each one pulling his weight, ‘round the world and across the U.S., ‘til the sled settled again at the White House South Lawn Gate.
Trump told the news cameras of his great courage and kindness, but everyone already knew of his self-centered blindness. He told of the rooftops and chimneys he slid down, but it was hard to believe this fat silly clown.
There were no toys for children, “They’re too young to vote!”, his philosophy was clear, it was on Melania’s coat.
No bundle of toys did he fling on his back, he would have used Lindsay Graham to carry that sack. No eyes that twinkled his dimples were scary, no red cheeks, no nose like a cherry.
His droll little mouth drawn up like a bow, no beard on his chin as white as the snow. No pipe did he hold tight in his teeth, but the California fire smoke encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and yellow-orange hair, and a huge round belly, he was shaped like a pear. No jolly old elf was he, Trump was a monster with no Christmas glee.
Trump’s lawyers worked ‘round the clock to cover his tracks, of documents and NDA’s there were thousands of stacks. His tweets were as many and through the night he worked, but no one believed him only those whose chain he jerked.
Rudi Giuliani was by this time insane, he lied for Trump with his now damaged brain. He said he “saw the sky in which the sleigh and Trump flew”, but it really didn’t matter if any of it was true.
“Truth isn’t truth” Rudi would plea, “Santa brought toys for my children and a big tax break for me.” “Trump hopped in his sleigh and to his team gave a whistle, and they ascended into the sky like a North Korean missile.”
To make a long story short, this all ended up in the U.S. Supreme Court. The vote for Trump was 5 to 4 as Trump's ringer, Brett Kavanaugh, settled that score.
But Robert Mueller would finish this fight, and he exclaimed, “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”
John Kushma is a communication consultant and lives in Logan, Utah.
https://www.linkedin.com/in/john-george-kushma-379a5762
http://newsbout.com/a/John+Kushma
