Editor’s note: Parts of the following column were taken from and inspired by Clement Clarke Moore’s original poem, “’Twas the Night Before Christmas.”
’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the country
Not a job could be found, not even as a packer of poultry;
ObamaCare has started adding more negative debt with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas would soon end the nightmare;
The children were nestled snug in their beds,
While visions of iPhones danced in their heads;
And mamma in her negligee from Victoria’s Secret and I in my shorts,
Had just settled down for a marathon of “Criminal Minds” and courts;
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the widow, I flew like a bat,
I tripped over the dog and stepped on the cat;
The police lights on new-fallen snow,
Gave a glimpse of criminals slow;
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Chevy Volt with a battery severe;
I knew in a moment that it must be President Obama.
He whistled and shouted and called their names:
“Now Clinton! Now Biden! Now Pelosi and Geithner!
On Chu! On Reed! On Feinstein and Holder!
To the top of the Capitol, to the top of the White House!
Now tax away, tax away, tax away all!”
So up to the Hill, the Congress they flew,
With pockets full of special interest money, too;
And then, in a twinkling, I heard up on the roof
The prancing and dancing of the Occupy Wall Street protest;
As I drew back my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Obama came with a bound.
He was dressed to the nines, suit, tie and all,
And his hands were filled with pink slips for all;
A bundle of taxes for the people he had,
Like a Grinch with more monies he was glad.
His eyes — how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his look a bit scary!
His droll little mouth was coated in red ink.
I had hoped to see a jolly little elf but not a fink;
Instead I spied an elf with spending over the brink.
He shook when he smiled as he counted the taxes;
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of job axes;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know, I had everything to dread;
He spoke not a word, his teleprompters missing,
He filled all of the stockings with windmills hissing;
And laying his finger aside his nose,
And giving a nod, up with Biden he rose;
He sprang to his Volt, to Congress gave a whistle,
And away they all drove, fast like guns to Mexico.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
“Merry Christmas to all, and to all good luck.”
My apologies to Clement Clarke Moore.
Calderone is a conservative who lives in Midway. He is a professional salesperson and for 30 years has written articles for trade publications in various fields.