A Visit From The Big Guy

With sincere apologies to Clement Clark Moore

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when in the White House,
Not a creature was stealing, not even Hunter, that louse;
The stockings were hung for the pervert to sniff,
In hopes that The Big Guy would arrive in a jiff;
The Congress was full of bad liars and Reds,
And visions of Socialists danced in their heads;
Dr. Jill had decided, aww who gives a crap?
I might as well stay four more years with that sap;
When out on the lawn I heard someone mumble,
He tripped and he cursed, and then took a tumble.
I went to the window expecting the worst,
He looked like he’d fallen right out of a hearse.
He was wandering back and forth in the snow,
And he gave the impression he just didn’t know.
Then all of a sudden what should appear?
A limo and guys with those things in their ears.
And the guy who looked lost, he wasn’t too spry,
I knew in a moment it was The Big Guy.

More rapid than eagles his handlers they came,
And he mumbled, and stumbled, and called them by name;
“Now, Blinken! now, Yellen! now, Garland and Fudge!
On, Austin! on, Klain! On, Mayorkas, Buttigieg!”
The migrants are coming right through the Trump wall!
Deny it! Deny it!, Just deny all!”
Then up to the White House – the limo it flew,
With a sack full of cash, and The Big Guy too.
Then from up above came the sound of a hoof,
The senile old bastard was up on the roof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney The Big Guy came with a bound.
His gait was unsteady, like he was walking on eggs,
He was mumbling something about hairy legs.

A bundle of graft he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a swindler just opening his pack.
His eyes looked so vacant his face it was sunken,
His nose like a cherry, from something he’d drunken.
His droll little mouth was drawn up in a scowl,
The hair on his head as if combed with a towel.
He flashed an odd smile, through brilliant white teeth,
Then tried to converse with a low hanging wreath.
He had a pale face and a little round gut,
And he laughed for no reason, like some kind of nut.
He was useless and limp, a senile old fart,
I remembered his job and it gave me a start.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
His very appearance filled me with dread;
He said something to Cornpop, then went straight to his work,
And sniffed all the stockings, like a weird jerk.
He took cash from his sack, to the stockings he went,
Then he filled all the stockings 90 percent.
Why not 100, I queried him,” Why?”
He said that the rest was for The Big Guy.
Then pulling his finger out of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
But he walked the wrong way, and the roof had a pitch,
He tripped, and he teetered, almost fell off that bitch.
But the agents corralled him, and threw him inside,
And away from the rooftop the limo did ride.
But I heard him exclaim, ere they drove out of sight,

And a very Merry Christmas from Frank on Friday