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Twas the Neocon Christmas

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Category: The Lighter Side/ Humor

Via: swamijim-sez • 11 years ago • 8 comments

'Twas the night before Christmas,
and through the compound
Not a creature was stirring,
For fear of live rounds;
The shotguns were hung
by the chimney with care,
In hope that double-ought buckshot
soon would be there;
The children were nestled all smug in their beds,
While visions of Welfare-bums
starved in their heads;

And mamma in her girdle, I in Kevlar vest,
Had just bunkered down for a right-wing love fest,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang for my gun to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I leaped like a toad,
Tore open the shutters and went lock and load.
The floodlights on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to barbed-wire below,

When, what to my paranoid gaze was disclosed,
But a miniature tank, and eight armed commandoes,
With a little old driver, so spread in the tush,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Rush.
More silent than black-ops his minions they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now Boehner, Now Ron Paul, now GlennBeck and Nixon!
On, Cheney! on Reagan!! On Palin you vixen
To the top of the heap! to the Street called the Wall!
Now Free Market! Laissez Faire! Acquire it all!"

As Tea Bags that before the dread tax increase fly,
And meeting aLiberal, rant, curse and cry,
So up to the house-top the commandoes they flew,
With the tank full of loot, and St. LimbaughRush too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard it so sweet
The stamping and pounding of jack-booted feet.
As I drew in my hand, and was chambering a round,
Down the chimney St. LimbaughRush came with a bound.
He was dressed all in silk, from his head to his foot,
And he threw both his hands up and called out 'Don't shoot';

Bibles, guns and Ayn Rand tracts he dumped on the floor,
And he looked like a corporate stooge or a media whore.
His eyes -- how they bulged out! His stare was so wary!
His cheeks were like dough-balls, his nostrils were flaring!
His spit-slavered mouth was stretched wide like a bow,
And the flab of his chins was as slack as Karl Rove;
Oxycontin and Viagra they pulsed in his veins,
And the dope had corroded his paranoid brains;

He had a lard ass and a big bloated belly,
That shook when he sneered, like a bowlful of jelly.
He was doughy and pale, a right flabby old prick,
And I laughed when I saw him, 'cause he's such a dick;
He checked my ID and I felt a quick dread,
Then saw that he knew I'm a true ditto-head;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Doled out all the small-arms; then turned with a jerk,

And raising a finger up from his clenched fist,
Giving Lefties the bird, up the chimney he whisked;
He sprang to his tank, brought his team to attention,
And away they all flew like a mineworkers pension.
But I heard him proclaim, as he drove out of sight,

"Happy Christmas to all-- at least all that's far-Right." [

Wishing you all a very white (right and up-tight) Christmas...