‘Twas the night before Christmas and at the White House;/ Our Commander was sleeping, and so was his spouse.
If you’re like me, you’re not at all surprised by the holiday gifts doled out by Harry Reid and friends in order to give the ultimate legacy-saving present to President Obama. After all, pork has been the favorite dish of congressmen for years. What did surprise me was how quickly the details of the dirty dealings made their way into the public realm. Please allow me to advance my theory while making my annual apology to Clement Clark Moore.
‘Twas the night before Christmas and at the White
Our Commander was sleeping, and so was his spouse.
They’d gone to bed early to ward off the blues;
In hopes that the new year would bring them good news.
Progressives were snuggled, asleep safe and warm;
While dreaming of government health care reform.
But I in my doldrums, and sleepless with fears;
Had just nodded off with a couple of beers.
When out of my TV there came such a clatter;
I put down my brewski to check out the natter.
Away to the boob tube I flew in a flash;
To watch a discussion of ill-gotten cash.
The smoke in the backroom was blowing quite thick;
And I thought that my poor mind was playing a trick;
When what to my sleep-deprived eyes should appear
But a panel of Democrats looking severe!
With a little old leader so ready to plead;
I knew in a moment it was Harry Reid.
More rapid than eagles his supplicants came
When he wined them and dined them and called them by name:
Now Sanders, Now Landrieu, Now Ben from Nebraska;
We’ll give you the bridge that we scotched in Alaska!
To the chamber to vote;
Where we plan to play ball;
It’s cash today, cash today, cash for you all!
As wobblers who’ll alter their views so they’ll jibe,
when they meet with a party that’s eager to bribe;
So on went the plan to bewitch and bewilder
By paying the requisite pieces of silver.
And then in a twinkling, I heard in my room;
A voice that would fill any patriot with gloom.
As I peered through the darkness I saw with great dread
St. Hillary appear at the foot of my bed.
She was dressed in a trench coat, the collar up high;
And she wore a mischievous gleam in her eye.
A pair of dark glasses were perched on her head;
And she grinned as she pictured the glory ahead.
Her eyes—how they sparkled! Her manner—how airy!
As she thought of the treachery cooked up for Harry.
Her droll little mouth was stretched out in a smile;
And her angelic look gave no hint of her guile.
A tiny black book she held tight in her hand;
And she grinned like a bandit while hatching her plan.
She had a bright look and her cheeks grew so rosy
As she started to write down the deals of Pelosi.
She noted with glee the attempted extortion;
The cash to vote cloture and fold on abortion.
With a wink of her eye in the midst of my dream;
I realized that she’d let me in on her scheme.
She hoped that the papers would swallow the bait;
That they’d never suspect came from mistress of State.
She merrily felt that Obama was toast;
As she faxed all the dirt to the Washington Post.
She sprang to her feet, from my room she went
And my joy was so full that I felt just like singing!
And I heard her exclaim, as my eyes welled with tears,
“Happy Christmas Barack, I’ll be back in three years.”
A man of faith in a godless age is hitting Americans where it hurts.
Mr. and Mrs. American Spectator Reader, let P.J. O’Rourke talk sense to your kids.
In Britain, defending your property can get you life.
The debacle of this president’s administration is both a cause and a symptom of the decline of American values. Unless Congress impeaches him, that decline will go on unchecked. An eminent jurist surveys the damage and assesses the chances for the recovery of our culture.
It won’t take long for conservatives to scratch this presidential wannabe off their 2008 scorecard.
The American Christmas, like the songs that celebrate it, makes room for everybody under the rainbow. Is that why so many people seem to be hostile to it?
Was the President done in by the economy, or by the politics of the economy?