Twas The Night Before Tax Deal

Senator No, The Chinless Leader
(Source: ihatethemedia.com) 

Twas the night before tax deal and all through the house

Not a creature was purring, but boy could they grouse

The Blue dogs were stung by the election year scare

In hopes that some compromise soon would be there

The voters were nestled all snug in their beds

While visions of tax breaks and entitlements danced in their heads

And mamma in her Kerchief, I tried not to snap

As I just settled down for another media bitch slap

When out on the DC Mall there arose such a clatter

I sprang to my TV set to hear the Tea Party chatter

Away to the press room I flew like a flash

To check on the impact through voter back lash

The Verbal Moon Boehner gave me while eating crow

Gave the bluster of mid-terms to my projects in tow

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a house speaker at bay, and eight pols in great fear

With a chinless weasel behind them, coming quite quick

I knew in a moment it must be McConnell, that prick

More rapid than Pit Bulls, his new coursers they came,

And he whistled and shouted and called them by name.

Now DeMint, Now Cornyn, Now McCain and your Veep Vixen

On, Gingrinch, On Romney, play nice with that Alaskan Conniption

To the top of the Capitol, We will not play ball!

Now Spin Away! Spin Away! Spin Away All!

As dry throats before the brickbats do fly

When they meet with an obstacle, never explain why

So up to the House the coursers they flew

With a sleigh full of tax cuts, and Mitch McConnell, too.

And then while night tinkling, I sensed my poll numbers go poof

With the gnawing and pawing of each little goof

As I drew in my manhood and was turning around,

Into the White House McConnell came with a bound

He was dressed in polyester from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished in hot sauce and pig’s foot

A bundle of tax cuts on which he’d cut me no slack

He looked like Neidermeyer from Animal House just needing a smack

His face, oh so chinless, his beady eyes oh-so-scary

His cheeks were like roses, who would have ever taken his cherry?

His thin lipped little mouth poised for invective to blow

And the diminutive chin pathetic, like that of a crow

The stump of a pen he held tight in his teeth

And the smoke of his rhetoric circled his head like a wreath

He had a narrow, severe face of an anorexic Grace Kelly

That stood firm as he spoke like, well, the cadaver Gene Kelly

He was not clubby that hump, oh so full of himself

I soiled my pants when I saw him in spite of myself

A wink of his eye still leaden and dead

Soon gave me to know he would try to hand me my head

He spoke not a true word, given it’s politics at work

And filled all the tax brackets that red neck little jerk

And giving me the finger, using no prose

And giving a tweak up into my face he arose

He sprang to his posse, to his team gave a whistle

Off like lemmings cliff racing while re-reading his epistle

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight

Compromise THIS, and y'all better get ready to fight!

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Apologies, or kudos, to Con Chapman inspiring me to do this.  I do one every year, and had let it slip my mind this year until reading his latest.