Merry Christmas!

I'll be back on the 27th. In the meantime, here's a Christmas poem for you to enjoy:

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the land,

No candidate was stirring, or shaking a hand.

The presents were wrapped-up under the tree,

In hopes that this Christmas could be campaign-free.

The voters were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions from TV ads danced in their heads.

My sister in Dubuque and I here in Keene,

Tried hard to forget all the debates we had seen.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

If they'd found our lawn boy out by the shack,

Tancredo and Hunter would never come back.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,

Gave luster to yard signs posted below.

When what should appear to my wondering eye?

A van with the bumper strip, "Live free or die."

With a little old driver, so lively and plain,

I knew in a moment it could be McCain.

But when I saw the sign saying "Peace to you all",

I imagined Kucinich, Gravel or even Saint Paul.

Like eagles, the reporters following him came.

He whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Russert! Now Matthews! Olbermann, Schieffer,

On Broder, on Stephanopoulous, on Lehrer, on Blitzer."

It may be Christmas but we all have our jobs.

So, "On Stewart, Colbert, O'Reilly, and Dobbs,

To the top of the world, to the top of it all.

Come push me on up; or at least break my fall."

As some candidates do when caught in a lie,

Climb up on their pedestal, high in the sky.

So up to the house-top the entourage flew,

With a sack full of earmarks and promises too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,

The prancing and pandering of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney the next President came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.

Soot on his clothes and soot in his hair,

That ruled out both Edwards and Romney right there.

His eyes, how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!

Alan Keyes he was not; he just wasn't scary!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

First I thought Biden and then I thought Dodd.

But it was all make-up, so white hair wasn't odd.

That's it! Actor's make-up removed all the doubt,

Except he was lively and quick, so Thompson was out.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.

That ruled out Obama, unless he was joking,

When he promised us all that he had stopped smoking.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

Bill Richardson maybe - or Huckabee's old self.

But a wink of his eye and a shake of his head,

Let me know I was wrong without a word said.

As he filled each stocking with an American flag,

I thought, "Isn't this sort of like Rudy in drag?"

That's it. That's it. Think girls not boys.

Is Hillary the President handing out toys?

Santa sprang to the van, got the press on their bus,

And as they drove out of sight, called back to us:

"Merry Christmas to all, and don't ever forget,

Maybe the next President's not in the race yet."