Jane Chastain is a Southern California-based broadcaster, author and political commentator. Despite her present emphasis on politics, Jane always will be remembered as the nation's first female TV sportscaster, spending 17 years on the sports beat. Jane blogs at JaneChastain.com. She is a pilot who lives on a private runway.More ↓Less ↑
(With apologies to Clement Clark Moore, Henry Livingston Jr. or Anonymous)
Twas the night before Cliffmas, when all through the House
Republicans were wondering if their leader was a man or a mouse.
The parameters for the budget talks had been set out with care,
In hopes that a compromise soon would be there.
The taxpayers were uneasy, not snug in their beds,
While visions of higher rates danced in their heads.
And mom with her checkbook and dad with the bills,
Had just settled down with a bottle of pills.
When out on the porch, there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
To see the paperboy take off with a dash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of mid-day to the headlines below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
Another stalemate, oh dear!
With Obama in the driver’s seat, so lively and quick,
I knew Boehner had caved, and it made me sick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted and called them by name:
“Now, NANCY! Now HARRY! Now STENY! Now CHARLIE!
On RICHARD! On BENJAMIN and even JAY CARNEY!”
While the Fed prints more money, which sends prices soaring,
Our representatives in Washington go on a warring.
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
If they agree on higher tax rates, I think I will die.
So up to the White House Mr. Boehner he flew,
With a handful of compromises and our deductions too!
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the telly
Democrats laughing and clutching their belly.
As I drew in my hand the trusty remote,
And turned up the volume, I thought I would choke.
Obama was delivering a well-polished address,
“If the Republicans don’t give up, we’re all in a mess!”
A bundled of giveaways he has flung on our backs,
We can’t possibly afford, but there is no way to sack.
His eyes – how they twinkled, his math oh so cleaver,
“Raise taxes on the rich and things will get better!”
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
But his sinister plan was beginning to show.
The cuts that he promised were way down the road,
And government spending is set to explode!
He keeps a straight face and a flat little belly,
He passes up bread and butter and jelly.
He is lean and trim, and quite handsome it seems,
But what he is proposing is heartless and mean.
The bill will come due on the next generation,
While the economy flounders and we’re stuck in stagnation.
He winked to the media, and to Michelle gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim as he disappeared out of sight,
“HAPPY CLIFFMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOODNIGHT!”