Ho, Ho, Hobama.


Twas the night before session, when all through the House
Not a creature was slithering, not even a louse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Obama soon would be there;

The conspirators were nestled all snug in their ‘chutes’,
While visions of Sugar-Daddy tickled their Glutes.
And mamma in her bankruptcy, and I in my foreclosure,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s exposure;

When out on the internet(s) there arose such a clatter,
I tapped into Google to see what was the matter.
Away through WindowsXP, I flew through the flash,
Tore open the link and sifted through the trash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen Dow,
Gave the lustre of depression to America now.
When, what to my wondering eyes should I meet,
But a miniature leader, and fifteen tiny elite;

With a familiar old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be the Same ol’ Schtick.
More rabid than fans his cabinet they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

“Now, Daschle! now, Emanuel! now, Clinton and Hagel!
On, Holder! on Geithner! on, Summers and assorted other bagels!
To the top of the castle! to the top of the wall!
Now Cash away! Spend away! Tax away all!”

As dry heaves that before the wild spending fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, count to the sky.
So up to the House-top the cabinet they flew,
With the sleigh full of bills, and the bailouts too;

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the news
The financing and pawning of each little ruse.
As I clicked off my mouse, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Obama came with a bound;

He was dressed all in jewel, from his crown to his feet,
And his clothes were all GQ with cashes and treat.
A bundle of Stimulus he had slung on his back,
And he looked like Santa Claus just opening his pack;

His eyes, how they sparkled! his dimples much merrier!
His teeth were like pearls, his hair like a Terrier!
His serious look was somewhat uneasy,
And I knew in a moment to him I looked sleazy;

The stump of a cigarette he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a kind look and a little wry smile,
That confirmed my suspicions of cunning and guile;

He was quick and thorough, in a right splendid way,
And I bowed and scraped when he came my way;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went on with his trek,
And delivered to my stocking the fiat government cheque,
And 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, ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Recession to all, and to all a good-night.”


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