Our Christmas Gift To You
'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through Iraq
There was bombing and shelling, troops under attack.
The imam in his mosque and the Shia in Iran
Were warning Americans, "Leave while you can!"
My flak jacket hung on the back of a chair,
Next to my list of schools to repair.
I was lying exhausted, prostrate on my cot,
Thinking of all the things we had not,
When out on the grounds of the palace I heard
The bang and the hiss of a shoulder-launched bird.
The blast blew the window apart in a flash
And covered us all in a light coat of ash.
With helmet and rifle I ran to the breach
To bag a few Baathists who might be in reach.
The moon shining bright in the black Baghdad night
Illumined a plane near the end of its flight.
When a seven four seven came down with a whoosh,
I knew in a moment it must be George Bush.
It rolled to a stop, the door opened wide,
And Dubya came forth, and all those inside.
More rabid than foxes his courtiers they came,
And he whistled and shouted and gave them new names;
"Now, Rummy! now, Wolfie! (Each name, how it fits 'em!)
On Condi! on Cheney! It's time now to blitz'em!
From the door of the plane to the vast dining hall!
Now, dash away, dash away, dash away all!"
As sands from the desert are blown in a swirl,
Down on the tarmac swooped old Richard Perle
Who, faced with reality, always denied
That anyone, anywhere, ever had lied.
Into the hall Bush brought a green bag
And in his lapel wore his little tin flag.
His eyes were like BBs, his smile was a smirk.
You knew at first glance that this guy was a jerk.
"Brave men and women, I bring you good cheer
If platitude with attitude you're eager to hear!
The folks of Iraq will have nothing to dread
When Saddam and his boys are all of them dead.
I've brought gifts to Iraq, in my green bag you see:
Since government's bad, I'll leave anarchy;
Since oil-funded socialism cannot be free,
I'll give to the cut-throats our economy.
Here's all you need for your great Christmas feast,
And for Arabs and Kurds, peace in the Mideast.
Should democracy here not turn out just fine,
I'll leave justice and freedom for all Palestine.
Whatever you hear, you will not make the error
Of thinking that you're not at war against terror.
The people of Texas kill enough of their own!
They don't need Al Queda; their terror's homegrown."
And giving a wave and a victory "V"
Bush with his gang went sweeping by me
To climb up the stairs of their big Boeing sleigh
That quickly began to take them away.
But I heard him exclaim as he soared out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all on the radical right!"
--AC
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the land,
not a critic was stirring, for stirring was banned.
A thousand brown prisoners, snug in their cells,
all held without charges or tinsel or bells;
and mamma was wrapped in the national flag,
while we sang "Where there's never a boast or a brag."
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the TV I flew like a flash;
I then watched "Survivor" and reruns of "Mash."
The fireworks, exploding above the new snow,
gave a luster of objects to people below.
When what saw my wondering eyes in the flashes:
a miniature George Bush and eight tiny fascists!
Their jerseys were blue and said "WORLD DOMINATION;"
I knew right away this was not just claymation.
More rapid than eagles the warlords they came,
as the little Bush whistled and called them by name:
"Now, Daschle! now, Ashcroft! Now Strom, don't relent!
On, Poindexter, Rumsfeld! On Henry and Trent!
To the top of the globe, while the crowd's at the mall,
now bomb away, bomb away, bomb away all!"
His sack had a war game for each girl and boy;
his pocket, four billion for just Illinois.
Far up on his high seat the driver did mount,
with more massive weapons than Kofi could count.
And then, I heard sounds from away off somewhere,
the booming of bombs that were bursting in air.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
down the chimney old Dick Cheney came with a bound.
He said not a word, nor disclosed his location;
he wiretapped my house in the name of the nation.
Then holding the strings of his little Bush puppet,
he went to the chimney and quickly rose up it.
The sleigh was still running, but Dick didn't hurry;
gas guzzlers, it seemed, were no longer a worry.
He popped the champagne and exclaimed as he served it,
"The world is now ours, and GOD DAMN, we deserve it!"
--Anonymous
A LETTER TO VIRGRINIA
Dear Mr. Politex, I am a 25-year-old female child. Some of my little friends say President Bush will never really cut his massive budget deficit in half, as he promises. Papa says, "If you see it on Bush Watch (www.bushwatch.com), it is so." Please tell me the truth, will President Bush ever cut his massive budget deficit in half? --Virgrinia O.
Virgrinia, your little friends are wrong. They have been blighted by fear of the process. They do not believe that a good man can live within the bubble. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. Yes, Virgrinia, there are men who can live in D.C. and not be sullied by the meat grinder of the liberal media. They exist as certainly as spin and hidden profit exists, and you know that they exist and give to political life its greatest rewards. Alas, how dreary would the world be if there were no politicians able to deal with questions of massive budget deficits created to reward wealthy corporations. It would be as dreary as if there were no endless miles of shopping mega-malls or vast entertainment multiplexes. There would be no faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence.
Not believe that President Bush has a plan to cut his massive budget deficit in half? You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch the grounds of the White House. Will they ever see fairies dance on the White House lawn? They might miss them, but that doesn't mean they aren't there. The President and his backers can imagine all of the circumstances of the seen, the unseen, and the unseeable in the world that cry out for his attention. And that is why he wouldn't even care if, for some unknown reason, like fairness, justice, or sound economic policy, it should turn out that his massive budget deficit will grow larger, rather than smaller. You see, Mr. Bush, always thinking ahead, knows that an even more massive budget deficit will line the pockets of the rich. But after, all it is the rich who gained the White House for him, so he has to make the effort to repay them once again. And, anticipating failure to cut into his massive deficit, the purpose of the plan is to blame the Democrats for not getting more money to the poor, thus helping to ensure Republican victories at the voting booth in 2004.
You may tear apart the politician's head and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil there covering his thoughts which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could uncover. If pressed, perhaps a representative of Mr. Bush might spill that part of his plan when his head is ripe. Is his plan for real? Ah, Virgrinia, in all his world there is nothing else as real and abiding.
Mr. Bush not dealing with questions of rewarding the rich for their support of him? Thank God, he will be rewarding the rich forever. A thousand years from now, Virgrinia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to be rewarding the rich as we humble children stand by with gladdened hearts!!! --Mr. Politex, Christmas 2003
Upon one stimulating Christmas Eve, who'd dare take away what you'd best not receive?
By H. Bruce Miller, bend.com (hbruce@bend.com)
Twas the night before Christmas. Things looked pretty bleak.
My boss had just sent me a pink slip last week.
Mom was working at Sprawl-Mart to earn a few pennies
Without any vacation, fringes or bennies.
The market was sagging, and my 401(k)
Was as flat as a beer that's been open all day.
In quiet desperation, I crept into bed,
Where visions of bankruptcy danced in my head.
I had just fallen into an uneasy doze
When up on the housetop, a clatter arose.
Out of my bed I drowsily tumbled,
And scratching my head, to the parlor I stumbled.
As I rubbed my eyes sleepily, gazing around,
Down the chimney Tom Daschle came with a bound!
He was sprightly and small, a real cute little elf,
And he carried a sack twice the size of himself.
He spoke not a word, but just set down the sack
And opened it up. I was taken aback!
The most glorious whiz-bang that ever I'd seen!
It was golden and purple and crimson and green!
It sparkled and twinkled! It gleamed and it glittered!
It buzzed and it whistled! It honked and it twittered!
It had buttons and switches and a great big brass bell.
Turning to Daschle, I said, What the hell??
It's a stimulus package! he exclaimed with a grin.
To get the economy perking again!
You've worked very hard and you've been a good boy,
So I brought you this present! Enjoy it! Enjoy!
And giving a wink and a nod and a whistle,
He flew up the chimney like a human cruise missile.
As I stood there a-quiver and bursting with glee
Another wee elf crept from under the tree!
His eyes were so beady, his smile so smirky,
His nose was so pointy, his speech was so quirky,
I knew him in an instant, without even a thought.
Saint Dubya! I cried. Look what Tom Daschle brought!
Good gracious! said Dubya, Oh brother! Oh boy!
Such presents are not for the hoi and polloi!
They re for billionaires, zillionaires, big corporations
the truly deserving in our mighty nation!
And with no more ado, he snatched the gift back,
And stuffed it inside of his huge bulging sack.
Saint Dubya! I moaned. You can't leave us this way,
With no stimulus package for our Christmas Day!
Of course, said Saint Dubya, you get something too.
Here's a stimulus package designed just for you.
And reaching deep into his fat bulging bag,
He pulled out an object that looked like a rag
And handed it to me. It was an old sock,
With a thing in the toe that felt like a rock.
Here's a nice Christmas stocking, with a fine lump of coal,
Saint Dubya said, grinning. Now I ve gotta roll.
Lots of houses to visit, lots of people to see!
And he dashed out the door (after snatching our tree).
But I heard him exclaim from his pickup truck:
Happy Stimulus to some, and to others good luck!
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