'Twas the Week Before Christmas

By Mark Levy

December 18, 2015 5 min read

'Twas the week before Christmas, when all through this place,

Not a creature was stirring, politicians scurry in haste;

The stockings were filled by the lobbyists with care,

In hopes that St. Barack soon would be there;

And just when the voters could start having fun

The politicians were gone but their damage was done

The taxpayers were fearful, hiding in their beds,

While visions of terrorists danced in their heads,

They looked for their prez but remembered what he said

For all they got was — "GM's alive, Bin Laden is dead"

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window as I hid my cash

Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But Saint Barack in his mom jeans dear

With that little old driver, so skinny and slick,

I knew in a moment it must be that uh ... our president

He drove a new sleigh filled with green solar glass

Can't have Rudolph passing that methane gas

More liberal than liberal, his henchmen they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

Now Hillary, now Nancy, now Biden, and Kerry,

On Sanders, on Jarrett, on Matthews, and Harry;

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,

With the sleigh full of pork and St. Barack too:

And then with a screeching, I heard a big deal

The prancing and pawing of each little heel.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St. Barack came in with a bound:

Dressed to the nines in a dark tailored suit,

But his clothes were all tarnished from taking our loot;

Closely behind a teleprompter did fall

A long, long night filled with his verbal brawl

Bewildered I wondered where is our Claus?

St Barack read from the screen — "We have new laws

Today's a new day, for tolerance we cheer

Its Islamists we love and now Christians we fear;

Terrorism is bad, I'll finally confess

But the NRA, not the Koran, is to blame for this mess

I'm not flying around to spread good cheer and fun

I don't give, I take, so give me your gun."

A bundle of money was flung on his back,

And he looked like a bandit just opening his sack

St Barack gave out money like it grew on trees

His executive orders were offensive like fleas

His eyes — how they twinkled when he gave away our dough,

Planned Parenthood and climate science continued to grow

"I love foreign refugees, our borders they'll cross

Don't give me crap Trump, I'm the White House boss"

The stump of a Marlboro he held tight in his teeth,

And he grinned a yellow grin like a legalized thief.

His foreign policy stinks like a shirtless Putin

But the world's going to hell while he's busy lootin'

A wink of his eye and a twist of his noggin

He said "The world's warming get rid of that toboggan."

He shut his big mouth and went straight to his work,

And robbed all our stockings; then turned with a jerk,

"You're a one percenter, you don't need this money

Bleeding heart Liberals get all my honey."

And laying his middle finger aside of his nose

While flipping me the bird, up the chimney he rose.

He sprung to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew, like an Iranian missile:

But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight-

Happy Mid-Winter Solstice to all, and to all a good night.

I have been blessed with my loyal and even my not so loyal readers, thank you all.

Merry Christmas!

E-mail your questions to [email protected] To find out more about Mark Levy, and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit www.creators.com. Follow Mark on Twitter @MarkPLevy

Photo credit: Maria Eklind

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