It's all snowy and cozy outside on this historic eve so I was inspired to craft this homespun tale out of an old classic. Enjoy! ~ClizBiz
'Twas the night before Super Tuesday, when all through the House
Not a creature was stirring, not even John Murtha;
The banners were hung by the podiums with care,
In hopes that victory soon would be theirs;
The pundits were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of surprise upsets danced in their heads;
With the wife playing Wii and I penning a post,
We were just happy that George Bush was toast,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my blog to see what was the matter.
I shut down Windows and flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and aggravated my rash.
The moon on the breast of the Colorado snow
Allowed me to see the objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a campaign bus, and eight candidates … here!
With a wicked old driver, so grumpy and sick,
I knew in a moment it must be Vice Dick.
He breathed out real fire as he spoke in tongued flames,
And sputtered, and spewed, and called them by name;
"Curse, Hillary! curse, Obama! curse, Kucinich and his Vixen!
On, Ford! on Reagan! on, especially Dick Nixon!
From the hippie enclaves to the liberal coasts !
I demand to be rid of you fact-loving boasts!"
Dick fired up the road boat with alarming tenacity,
bent on slaughtering each and every veracity,
Screeching through the cul-de-sac the whole gang flew,
With a bus full of press corps and Vice Dick too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of both of Dick’s hooves.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Dick came with a bound.
He was dressed all in camo, from his head to his toe,
No orange vest to justify it just so;
A hunting rifle he had flung on his back,
He looked like Howard Stern ogling a rack.
His eyes -- how they burned! his dimples how scary!
His cheeks were pastrami, his nose - a popped cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a cross bow,
And the drool on his chin was a clue I should go;
Eight years of evil had taken its toll,
But he couldn’t stop now – Dick was on a roll;
He had a bald head and a famous round belly,
That rarely shook like a bowlful of jelly.
He was angry and bitter, a deranged old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A bloodshot left eye and a twist of his head,
Soon let me to know I had nothing to dread;
He dropped to the floor without much of a fuss
I called 9-1-1 and said, “Come git this old cuss.”
Then, his middle finger lay aside of his nose,
One snarky nod and onto the gurney he rose;
“Back to the bunker!” he called out and then gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, as they drove out of sight,
"Happy Super Tuesday to all, and but mostly ‘Go fuck yourselves!"