Twas the Night After Christmas

Twas the night after Christmas, King George was still pouting
Low approval ratings, and Republicans shouting
His legacy dead, an irrelevant fuck
Like a “Bring Them Home” decal on the back of a truck.

Cheney, the dick, was nowhere to be seen
Punishing corporate entities that dared to be green
Condi incompetent, barely still in one piece
Like a half-hearted effort at Middle East peace.

Iraq still a quagmire, he felt a strong urge
To tout the success of Petraus’s surge
If not for the violence and political mess
No one could argue the scale of success.

So goddamn upsetting he wanted to cry
Or break a few laws, maybe eavesdrop or spy
On citizens, idiots, who thought they were free
Duped by “reporters” who wrote for a fee.

The flag waving patriots who’ve never seen war
Were clinging at straws like they had once before
Christmas Eve fun for the troops in Iraq
Their kids home alone, simply shit out of luck.

First Wolfowitz, Rumsfeld then Ashcroft and Meyers
Gone were the assholes that started the fires
Ridge and Alberto now just ghosts from the past
His legacy dead, for the die have been cast.

The Pope from the Vatican, spat the world is a mess
Clutching his swastika under his dress
Lamenting out loud that the world’s gone astray
From all the atheist wars and the marriages gay.

Alberto Gonzales, alone in his head
Watched reruns of 24 lying in bed
He tortured the dog and then tortured the cat
He couldn’t spread cheer, but he could give them that.

Clandestine prisons, extraordinary rendition
Waterboard heaven, such a perfect condition
Political cronies ensconced where he’d been
The fruit still unripe, damage yet to be seen.

Still King George was lonely, where was Harriet Meiers?
Or Scooter, or Brownie, or the rest of the liars?
Like once proud New Orleans, all he had was once good
Now blacker than the inside of a detainee’s hood.

O’Reilly sat gingerly, falafels he ate
With a war against Christmas still fueling his hate
Rupert was lonely with all in his life
His new news publications, his trophy young wife

Americans were wondering how it all went so wrong
Like a terrible cover of an overplayed song
An election was looming, all the choices were lame
The same old recordings for an unchanging game

Politicians did nothing as it’s what they do best
They reneged on their promises, failed their tests
They postured, and preened and they pointed and blamed
With photo-op sorrow for the dead and the maimed.

Economy was spluttering, Wall Street all aflutter,
Foreclosures, credit, their bread and their butter
Retailers crying, consumption declining
An energy bill, toothless, to stop Big Oil whining

Torture and tax credits to shelter the wealthy
Vetoing bills to keep young children healthy
To Jesus he prayed, as poor soldiers lay dying
God Bless America, he asked, but the asshole was lying.