Saturday, December 25, 2021

Last Christmas I Gave You My Heart

Remember the political situation this time last year? I seem to have been predicting that the soon-to-be Former Guy wouldn't be endorsing vaccines by way of claiming credit for inventing them, but would mainly be hanging out at Mar-a-Lago pretending he was still president. I missed the coup in Washington, and he did ultimately go pro-vaccine a year later, but I feel there was something not exactly wrong there. Anyway happy birthday Sol Invictus, I'm running it again


'Twas the day before Christmas
And all through the House
All the Members had gathered
To schmooze and carouse;

The president's bluff
On the stimulus bill
Had been called and dismissed,
To the joy of the Hill,

With a pair of amendments,
Just one for each side,
To which, by agreement,
A vote was denied.

"Give us two thousand bucks!"
Representative Hoyer
Had exclaimed as Republicans
Filed through the foyer.

"Hell, no!" came the answer
From Congressman Wittman,
"We'll kill foreign aid before
We give you spit, man!"

Thus with sort of unanimous
Gen'ral consent,
They had passed the buck back
To the lame president,

And, the pleasant day's work
Being brought to a close,
They adjourned for a drink
Among comradely foes,

Till at last, trading elbow bumps,
All went their ways
To their various districts
For the next sev'ral days.

But at old Mar-a-Lago,
For hour upon hour,
In an atmosphere growing
Increasingly sour,

The president sat
By the flick'ring TV
With a couple of cheeseburgers
Perched on his knee,

As his trusted lieutenants
Traversed through the room
With their faces reflecting
Presentments of doom.

There was doughty Steve Bannon
In his multiple shirts,
And his diet of Doritos
And packaged desserts;

There was slinky Steve Miller,
Sliding quietly by,
Striking fear with his cold
And expressionless eye,

And weepy Mark Meadows,
That anxious old soul,
Expecting his stocking
To be full of coal,

And haunted Mike Flynn,
Like a painting by Goya,
With his festering rage
And his rank paranoia.

Here's old Sydney Powell
The eccentric attorney,
Who stares like they trundled her
In on a gurney,

And bringing the rear up
That popeyed freak Rudes,
Who spins in and out
Of mercurial moods.

"I'm fucked!" says the capo,
"I'm fucked up the ass!
I've run out of options!
I've run out of gas!

Republicans no longer
Fear to defy me!
They whisper and giggle
And slyly side-eye me!

I veto defense bills,
They pass them without me!
My fiercest fanatics
Have started to doubt me!

They say that I'm flailing
And lacking direction!
They even suggest that
I lost the election!

In weeks, slow Joe Biden
may be taking my place
If you don't think of something
To stop this disgrace!"

Then up steps Mark Meadows
and says with a sigh,
"You are sad, sir, no doubt,
And indeed, so am I,

But you're still a young man
At the peak of your powers,
With plenty of hair
And a number of towers;

This moment will pass,
And there's nothing to fear,
It's merely another phase
In your career."

"Oh no!" cries the Trump,
"I can feel in my gut
That my time's at an end,
And I'm stuck in a rut!"

"You'll recover yourself,"
Says the young chief of staff,
"And the pain you now feel
You'll brush off with a laugh,

If you steady your hand
With an effort of will
And just sign your name
To that stimulus bill.

When the people get wind of
Their six hundred bucks—"
"Ha, the people? What people?
Or who gives two fucks?"

"Sir, we all do! You know
If you don't sign it soon,
That the government shuts down
On Monday at noon."

"Hey, I really don't care."
"But you must care! I mean
That we must have that money
To move your vaccine!"

"My vaccine!" says the boss,
With a softening face,
"Do you think that that's something
That's not a disgrace?"

"Why, yes!" says young Meadows,
As his eyes start to shine,
"The people will love you,
If only you sign!"

"And do you suppose
That my heart will grow bigger?"
"It will grow several sizes,
And heighten your vigor!"

But up starts the Powell
As he picks up his pen,
And she pushes him in
to his armchair again.

"No! No!" she cries out,
As he gasps in surprise,
"You must not sign this thing!
You must open your eyes!

It's a devious trick
From the wicked Deep State
And you must stay your hand
Before it's too late!"

"But then what should I do,
Mrs. Powell?" he replied.
"You should vanquish the plots
Of the opposite side!

You should gather your strength
While we hold to the fort
And name me Chief Justice
Of a new Supreme Court.

Let the fools in D.C.
Do whatever they like,
But here in Palm Beach
We are going on strike!"

"That's more like it," said Trump,
"And what else will we do?"
"When the twentieth comes,
I'll be swearing in you,

And while Biden and government
Potter around,
We'll be ruling the world
From your personal ground!

All those fools in the media
Think that you're done,
But you'll still be the president!
Won't that be fun?

But without all the meetings
And briefings and shit,
Just issuing Tweets,
And that will be it!"

"Why then, fuck them!" cried Trump,
"And their stupid vaccines,
I'll just stay here as king,
With all of my queens!"

And that is the story,
Without an erratum,
Of how Trump's heart shrank
To the size of an atom.

From the comments in the OP:

Cross-posted at The Rectification of Names.

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