A WHITE HOUSE CHRISTMAS -- DUTCH REDUX
Time to dust off the old chestnut.
Dedicated readers of this column know this as its Christmas Classic. It's my favorite misappropriation of what's probably the most revered and abused holiday ditty ever penned. Nothing has been dragged through the parodist's mud more than "'Twas The Night Before Christmas."
Consider this my hallowed pair of ratty journalistic jeans which no longer function as topical pants, but with the poesy bottom & crotch patches of repetitive history still fitting better than anything else in my metrical closet.
My continued heartfelt thanks to everyone for your continued support of the work. A happy & healthy holiday heart & hearth to all!
All best,
El
THE GALLOPIN’ GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PAST
Twas the night before Christmas,
when in the White House,
not a creature was stirring,
not Hilly, not spouse.
The committees of Congress
were all hunkered down.
Their star witness had landed:
Saint Nick was in town.
The Press Corps was nestled
all snug in its chairs
with visions of headlines
exclusively theirs.
The cameras were steadied,
the microphones set.
This witness was sure
to tell all you could bet.
When, Santa walked in
to the room from the foyer,
he came without Rudolph
or reindeer or lawyer.
You could hear a snow flake
or a pin drop, or both,
when he stood at the table
and swore in the oath.
So tense was the tension
to hear what he’d say,
why, it hung in the air
like his double-parked sleigh.
When, what to their wondering eyes
he brought forth,
but a lieutenant colonel
named Oliver North.
And, reaching in further,
deep down in his sack,
he pulled out some folks
from Iran and Iraq.
Then, out popped Poindexter,
now Shultz and Perot,
Israelis, Swiss bankers,
and George Bush in tow.
On Casey! McFarlane!
Now, Regan and Hall!
Come plead away, plead away,
plead away all!
But, “Who knew what when?”
shouts committee from pulpit.
“Just who was in charge here?
Who is the culprit?”
“We regret with respect to the Fifth,”
they said thus.
“We’ll incriminate no one,
beginning with us.”
So, then in closed session,
they heard from the Gnome,
and Santa disclosed
what he’d done on his own.
“I’ll tell all,” he proclaimed,
“that was plotted and planned,
if you’ll make me immune
from the law of the land.”
“It’s yours,” said committee.
“We’ll grant you protection.
Just tell what you know
of the Contra connection.”
A handwritten speech
he then pulled from his boot.
and he read like a thief
who’d been caught with the loot:
"I did it myself.
I knew much more than zero.
But, if I am the traitor,
just who is the hero?
You see my dilemma?
When Christmas is nigh,
the world wants its slice
of American pie.
Iran wants more bombs
and spare parts miscellany.
Iraq wants to zap
Ayatollah Khomeini.
The Contras want rations
and guns anti-tanks.
The Swiss want neutrality
down in their banks.
Republicans want
all the scraps from the deal.
The Pope wants his sermons
to have Mass appeal.
I delivered the goods
and I flew the worldwide.
I would fly away now
but there’s no place to hide.
So, blame no one else.
It’s that time of the year.
I made some mistakes
trying to spread Christmas cheer.”
Then, Santa looked out
at the Press in its chairs,
and shocked the whole bunch
by removing his hairs.
From his head and his chin
and from under his nose,
he peeled off disguises
and stripped off his clothes.
And, they heard him exclaim,
‘ere his costume was spent:
“Merry Christmas from Nancy
and your President.”
Copyright 2006 B. Elwin Sherman. All rights reserved.
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