’Twas a night before Christmas, and all through the House
The right was rampaging — each lion and mouse.
Their tea bags were hung in the cloakroom to dare
Every centrist to ponder a primary scare.
The Democrats nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of victory danced in their heads.
House Speaker John Boehner, suspecting a trap,
Had just poured himself yet another nightcap,
When on his voice mail there arose such a clatter,
He focused his brain to see what was the matter —
And then in a flash to his iPhone he dove,
For he knew in a moment it must be St. Rove.
“Look, Boehner: Tell Cantor it’s time to get real.
This tax thing is killing us. Just make the deal.
Take it from me and from Charles Krauthammer:
Your caucus can’t take all this Tea Party clamor.”
The Speaker heard this and went straight to his work.
He called Eric Cantor. He called him a jerk.
The Speaker exclaimed, ere he passed out that night —
It sucks being me. It really, really sucks being me.
I wish I was back mopping the floor in Dad’s tavern.
Fucking shit. Fucking shit. Fucking shit.
[Merry Christmas! 🙂 — Rick]