‘Twas the night before Christmas, as in days of yore;
Not a liberal was stirring, not even Al Gore;
Our prospects were sinking, we pined in despair,
And prayed that St. Hillary soon would appear.
We Democrats waited, while snug in our beds,
Impeachable articles danced in our heads!
But with Bush in the White House and Cheney as veep,
I’d just settled down to a paranoid sleep.
When out on the Beltway arose such a clatter,
I headed for Hardball to check out the chatter.
I reached for my clicker with partisan glee,
But only to gape at a blacked-out TV.
The moon through the window cast light all about
And showed me quite clearly the plug had come out.
When what did I see on the former dark screen
But the visage of DNC chair Howard Dean!
He introduced someone, with looks that could kill;
I cheered when I realized it must be St. Hill!
More rapid than eagles her myrmidons came,
When she whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now, Daschle! Now, Durbin! Now, Eliot Spitzer!
On, Matthews! On, Russert! On, Woodruff and Blitzer!
To the Sunday news shows! To the National Mall!
Now bash away! Bash away! Bash away all!”
As big bucks before dirty congressmen fly,
When they meet with flush lobbyists, eager to buy;
So out to the hustings the Democrats flew,
With a slate full of programs for states colored blue.
And then in a twinkling, I saw on TV,
As stunning a change as you’re likely to see;
As I grabbed for my clicker to turn up the sound,
Through my Sony, St. Hillary came with a bound!
She was dressed all in white from her head to her toe,
All except for a pink blouse that set her aglow;
An American flag pin she wore with great pride,
And she looked to my eyes like a blushing new bride.
Her eyes — how they sparkled! Her cheeks were so rosy!
Her little pug nose just like Nancy Pelosi!
Her sweet smiling lips bore no hint of complaint
And her overall bearing was that of a saint.
A worn-out old bible she clutched in her hand
And declared that upon it our nation should stand:
“The war in Iraq is just part of God’s willing,
Like permanent tax-cuts and ANWR oil drilling.”
She was clearly possessed by some right-wingish soul,
And she spoke with the drawl of Elizabeth Dole!
A shy sheepish grin and a toss of her hair,
Soon gave me a feeling of awful despair.
She spoke of the heartland with tears in her eyes;
And grand fruited plains and of God’s spacious skies.
When praising Rush Limbaugh and Tammy Wynette,
She caused me to wake from my sleep in a sweat!
My screen was now dark but I wasn’t alone;
St. Hill had a message that chilled to the bone;
With a voice that resembled sharp nails on a slate,
She exclaimed, “HAPPY CHRISTMAS! At least till ’08!”
Lisa Fabrizio is a columnist who hails from Connecticut. You may write her at firstname.lastname@example.org.
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