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THE NIGHT AROUND WHATEVER

FROM KING FEATURES SYNDICATE
BY BOB FRANKEN

THE NIGHT BEFORE WHATEVER

’Twas the time around Christmas and through Mar-a-Lago,
Not a creature could be heard, except one with his bellow.
It was really quite scary as he ranted and screeched,
In a tantrum he hollered, “I’ve been impeached!”
He’d gone down South, to escape D.C. with all of its monuments,
Besides he could use a few more emoluments.
The staff paid full rate, fake newsers, on their beat,
Breathlessly reporting on each Trumpster tweet.
He did not disappoint, no ifs, ands, buts or maybes,
He condemned all the Democrats to go straight to Hades.
Still, the stockings were hung by the chimney with cheer,
Next to his bogus Time magazine “Man of the Year.”
The children were nestled, all snug in their beds,
With visions of franchises racing ’round in their heads.
Don and Eric in hunting PJs, Ivanka in her shawl,
Dreaming of profits to be had from the wall.
Sell signage, perhaps, on those barricades to enter,
Or maybe buy up the migrant jail centers.
There’s money to be made in their fear and diseases,
As they wait, oh so desperately, for their asylum and visas.
Trump was on Twitter sending out something crass,
When he heard such a clatter on his golf course’s grass.
Away to his window, he flew like a flash,
He was sure as could be that something had crashed.
His wondering eyes were amazed to observe,
A sleigh, nine little reindeer and a red-suited perv.
“Ho, Ho, Ho,” said the perv, he was obviously sick,
He then introduced himself as, you guessed it, St. Nick.


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He showed some ID, jumped from the sleigh he was ridin’
So Trump need not worry Santa was really Joe Biden.
Or a really clever disguise, with his cheeks oh so rosy,
He could actually be Speaker Nancy Pelosi.
Or Ukraine’s president, stowing away, really cheating,
Trying to sneak in for a head of state meeting.
Without paying his dues, being a real misbehaver
To have a photo-op without doing “a favor.”
But it was not an impostor, Trump was not getting Scrooge-edged,
Not Sanders nor Warren, definitely not that kid Buttigieg.
He spoke not a word, went right to his work,
What gifts did he have for President Jerk?
The only stuff he had coming from the North Pole,
Were thousands of sacks all filled up with coal.
Claus was here to cut Don Trump right down to size,
So each bag he left was for one of his lies.
Actually, St. Nick was tired, he even got yawny,
This was getting boring, and his next stop Giuliani.
At least Nick was funny, that’s why in his bag,
A dress was wrapped up for when Rudy went drag.
Suddenly, Trump mugged Santa on a whim, just for fun,
Took over his sleigh, which became Air Force One.
He backed it up with a threat, said his lawyers might sue,
Or maybe he’d shoot him on Fifth Avenue.
Then Trump went much further and renamed the deer,
“On Mitch!” “On Mike Pence!” he yelled loud and clear.
Lindsey Graham was in the front as this outrage went down,
With a nose that was not red, more a deep shade of brown.
Donnie sped through the night, enjoying the dramas,
Forgetting he was only wearing pajamas.
So he looked from the ground, at least at first glimpse,
Like one of those ridiculous baby Don blimps.
Yelling, “Merry Christmas to all, and don’t be dejected,
Even though there’s a good chance that I’ll be reelected!”

© 2019 Bob Franken
Distributed by King Features Syndicate, Inc.

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This page contains a single entry from the blog posted on December 24, 2019 7:35 AM.

The previous post in this blog was THE ROLE CALL.

The next post in this blog is HAPPY NEW YEAR. REALLY?.

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