corrente

Reader "MD" (Dr. of Doggerel) sent me a poem parody and we decided to form a duet and perform this holiday number for your enjoyment. So, here ya goes....:


The Fright Before Christmas

Twas the night before WXmas, and all through the home
Not a Wingnut was stirring, no calls on the phone
The stock-holdings were hung by the chimney, each share
In revere of St BushNick and Gawd-blest laissez faire

The children tucked in, prayers guarding their dreads
While visions of Walmart crap danced in their heads
And Mom in her sweatpants and dad in his flannel
Had just tuned in teevee's, FauxNews cable channel.

When out on the lawn there arose such a natter
They sprang from the couch to see what was the clatter!
And away to the window they lunged in a daze
Threw open the curtains, knocked over a vase!

The moon on the breast of the freshly dewed grass
Brought a flicker of romance, or a quick piece of ass
When what to their dumbstruck eyes appeared shapes
Were a bulletproof Hummer and eight tiny man-apes

With a smirking-faced driver just strutting around
They knew ol' St BushNick had arrived in their town
More rabid than missiles his flunkies they came
And he whistled and shouted and called them nicknames

"Now Turd-Blossom! Now Crash! Now Nine Pin! and Stilt!
On Snake Hips! On Goober! On Prophet and Gilt!
Get your asses to work, let's round up my stash
Bring me more, Bring Me More, BRING ME MORE AND MORE CASH!”

As Iraqis that before the exploding bombs run
When they venture outside for a glimpse of the sun
So directly to wallets the flunkies they flew
To loot pension funds for the rich and the few

When suddenly the Wingers saw overhead
The BushFamily banner, greed-green and blood-red
As they covered their eyes and were turning about
Through the back door ol' BushNick appeared with a shout

He was dressed in Armani, his choice of fine suits
A ten gallon hat, and some nice cowboy boots
A bundle of swag he'd flung over his back
And he looked like a guy you just wanted to smack

His eyes they were beady! His lips they were pursed!
His cheeks were all ruddy, but his nose was the worst!
His pinched little face was bent into a grimace
As he said, "Gimme all of your money for WXmas!"

The smell of cheap whiskey came hard off his breath
And fumes swirled around him – like some stovepipe of death
He had a big swagger, and a bit of a reel
As he shook down the Wingers, Oh! what a heel

He was arrogant, rude, an obnoxious absurd
And they shuddered and tried to get in a brief word
But he winked and he told them, "Just shut the hell up!
Fork over the boodle, or boo-hoo in your cup."

"You voted for me, and I’m what you get,
Not one of you dared, put a stop to my threat."
And he flipped them the bird, as he flapped out the door
And they now understood what the lefties abhor.

He jumped in the Hummer, to his team gave a whistle
And away they all went, as the Wingers did bristle
And they heard him say as he drove down the lane,
"You fools - ho ho! - have each swallowed my bane...

Merry WXmas Merry WXmas Merry WXmas to Me
If it weren't for the Wingers I'd be Unemployed 43".

the end

So Merry Christmas Wingnuts. Enjoy playing on your slag heap for the next four years. I know I will.

Scary WXmas to all, and to all a good smite.

*