'Twas the night before Christmas, at the ACLU,
Twelve lawyers were sitting with nothing to do;
Their court briefs were piled on the table with care,
In hopes they could find a judge still working somewhere;

The plaintiffs were busy rehearsing their lines,
With visions of jury awards filling their minds;
And Heather in her Halston and Leo in his Armani,
Were working the phones like Patton’s 3rd Army.

When out in the lobby arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my desk to see what was the matter.
Away to the door I flew like a jet,
Ran right down the hall and worked up a sweat!

The lamp in the corner threw off a great glow,
Reflected in the Corsican tiles below;
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a liberal judge, and eight clerks at his rear,

With a flick of a finger, so lively and brisk,
He drew out a gavel and pounded the desk.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

"Now, Roscoe! now, Morton! now Ashley and Vixen!
On, Kwame! on Harvey! on, Sheryl and Dixon!
To the conference room table! Take the case that you choose!
It’s just hours ‘fore Christmas! Not a moment to lose!

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an order, they never ask why.
So atop the big table their briefcases flew,
And they beckoned for help from the ACLU.

And then, in a twinkling, the laser printer did clatter,
And his clerks and my lawyers engaged in loud chatter;
As I drew in my head, and was looking around,
Down the hall came the judge – he had put on his gown.

He was dressed all in black, from his head to his foot,
And he wore on his face a most sinister look.
The gavel he’d rattled now twirled in his hand,
And he looked at the ready to quiet this band.

His eyes were like coal, his mouth in a frown!
His cheeks were all hollow, his nose twisted down!
He smirked as he shouted, “Get moving! Let’s Go!
There’s a Christmas to ruin – get on with the show!”

His stump of a pipe emitted a cloud,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a shroud.
He had a thin face and big ears like Perot,
That wiggled, when he spoke, just a very odd show.

He read all the briefs, as we sat and looked on,
And we feared that our chance to halt Christmas had gone.
But a wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He drew out his pen and went straight to his work,
And filed all the orders with his army of clerks.
Then pounding his gavel he shouted his dictum,
”Christmas is banned, for all time, ad infinitum!”

He sprang to his feet, and his clerks followed suit,
And away they all flew like a horse through a chute;
But I heard him exclaim, ere his tires gave a squeal,
"No more Christmas for all, lest you lose on appeal!"

I know him
So I'm not going to read his poem.

I'm for keeping verses short
And my constitutionally guaranteed representation in court.


Happy Kwanza to all
and to all...
FOG DE MAN!
;)

I know him
So I'm not going to read his poem.

I'm for keeping verses short
And my constitutionally guaranteed representation in court.


Happy Kwanza to all
and to all...
FOG DE MAN!
;)


Try this one:

'Twas four years till the chance of Hillary.

'Twas the night before Christmas, in 2004,
Not a liberal was stirring, not even Al Gore;
Their prospects were dismal, they pined in despair,
And hoped that St. Hillary soon would appear.
The Democrats waited, subdued by their meds,
While visions of pork barrels danced in their heads.
With election-year worries and woes off my chest,
I’d just settled down for a long four-year rest.

When out on the Beltway arose such a clatter,
I headed for Fox News 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;
Then what did I see on the former dark screen
But the visage of DNC chair Howard Dean.

His voice was soon topped by one louder and shrill,
I winced 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, DORGAN! Now, ELIOT SPITZER!
On, RATHER! On, JENNINGS! 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 liberals they 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 reached for the mute key to shut off 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 was turned up like a posy;
Her sweet smiling lips bore no hint of complaint
And her overall bearing was one of restraint.

An old worn-out bible she clutched in her hand
And declared that upon it our nation should stand;
“Straight marriage is sacred, reflecting God’s will,
One man for one woman just like me and Bill.”
She was kindly and sweet, a right jolly old soul,
And she spoke with the drawl of Elizabeth Dole.
A wink of her eye and a gesture of cheer,
Soon gave me a feeling of absolute fear;

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 was not 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."

Try this one:

'Twas four years till the chance of Hillary.

'Twas the night before Christmas, in 2004,
Not a liberal was stirring, not even Al Gore;
Their prospects were dismal, they pined in despair,
And hoped that St. Hillary soon would appear.
The Democrats waited, subdued by their meds,
While visions of pork barrels danced in their heads.
With election-year worries and woes off my chest,
I’d just settled down for a long four-year rest.

When out on the Beltway arose such a clatter,
I headed for Fox News 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;
Then what did I see on the former dark screen
But the visage of DNC chair Howard Dean.

His voice was soon topped by one louder and shrill,
I winced 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, DORGAN! Now, ELIOT SPITZER!
On, RATHER! On, JENNINGS! 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 liberals they 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 reached for the mute key to shut off 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 was turned up like a posy;
Her sweet smiling lips bore no hint of complaint
And her overall bearing was one of restraint.

An old worn-out bible she clutched in her hand
And declared that upon it our nation should stand;
“Straight marriage is sacred, reflecting God’s will,
One man for one woman just like me and Bill.”
She was kindly and sweet, a right jolly old soul,
And she spoke with the drawl of Elizabeth Dole.
A wink of her eye and a gesture of cheer,
Soon gave me a feeling of absolute fear;

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 was not 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."


Please be a good Christian man on Christmas and spare us all the nasty doggerel.
::)