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A Different Kind Of Christmas Story

By Wyatt Earp | December 20, 2009

Sexy Santa‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the White House, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. A mouse is smart enough to evade the First Lady and much less rat-like than our envoy to Haiti. Believe it or not, the vice-president fights bugs, but even they are more attractive than Joe Biden’s plugs.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that the middle class wouldn’t take them somewhere. In this economy, most people could use some socks – either for warmth or to keep the home out of hock. The economy, though, is bound to bounce back, but not before Santa empties his sack.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of ObamaCare scared them near dead. The “death panels” will eliminate the elderly and middle-aged, so kids will soon be on the administration’s page. Imagine that film they called Logan’s Run, except that your palm light blinks when you turn one!

And Michelle in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap, had just settled down for a long winter’s nap. It’s easy to sleep when you don’t have a job, at least that’s the feelings of Press Secretary Bob. For unemployment is well over 10 percent, a rate that would shock any president. But will it subside before the Easter Bunny sees you? If not, they can enjoy some nice rabbit stew. Not having a job makes people do crazy acts, like voting for folks as useless as Democrats.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see a guy taking my ladder. I said, “Hey mister, put that on the ground!” and he replied, “I’m spreading your wealth around.” Sadly, the thief could not be much dumber, because he promised next time to vote for “The Plumber.”

He had a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be Eric. Cantor was his name, I knew him at once. He was the man who called me a dunce. But I’m the smartest man in the place, and everyone else is a disgrace. No civil servant works harder than me, well except my secretary of state Hillary. I chose her of course, to hide her away, ‘cause I didn’t want her running against me some day.

“Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! On Cupid! On, Donder and Blitzen!” Why was someone shouting these names? Because Tiger had to remember his dames. Woods was a role model, now this is a fact, but he’s losing endorsements because he is black. I wish the golfer would put up a fight, because the media is racist, so says Reverend Wright.

“To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!” If the wife found Tiger’s chicks on the lawn, I’d be out of here, man – I’d surely be gone. Michelle is a grump, as you know full well; marriage with her is my own personal Hell. But the perks are good here in the house that is white, and when she shrieks, the Service whisks me out of sight.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof, the prancing and pawing of each little hoof. It must be Pelosi; she’s come to my place, but boy I can’t stand to see that stone face. The broad looks like Helen Thomas without as much wrinkles, maybe that’s why when he sees her, As I drew in my hand, and was turning around, down the chimney Nancy came with a bound.

She was dressed all in fur, from her head to her foot, oh wait that’s her hair, and now I’m off put.

A bundle of cash she had flung on her back, and she looked like Barney Frank after seeing his PAC. The Democrats like to hoard all the dough, at the expense of voters, hey, they’ll never know! Her droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, and the beard of her chin was as white as the snow. “I’m getting it waxed,” she explained to Barack, “and I’ll thank you to not express your rude shock.”

She spoke a few words and went straight to her work, and told me that John Boehner was a big jerk. “He’ll spoil our plan,” she told me right there, “and I think that the man is after my chair.” Reassurance was hers, I told her and Reid. “Go back to the Senate, while I take the lead. My name is Obama, and this is my vow: I’ll give you the milk and I’ll give you the cow. This country is ours, so make no mistake; the right can give, because we’ll only take!”

She sprang to her sleigh, to her Dems gave a whistle, and away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard her exclaim, ere she drove out of sight, “ObamaCare to all, and to all a good night.”

Topics: FSM | 5 Comments »

5 Responses to “A Different Kind Of Christmas Story”

  1. RT Says:
    December 20th, 2009 at 4:51 pm


  2. proof Says:
    December 20th, 2009 at 5:31 pm

    If the lady in the pic delivers my present, she can bring me a lump of coal for all I care!

  3. Smite A. Hippie Says:
    December 20th, 2009 at 9:54 pm


  4. metoo Says:
    December 21st, 2009 at 9:53 am

    No doubt about it, Wyatt. You are a talented man.

  5. Wyatt Earp Says:
    December 22nd, 2009 at 12:48 pm

    RT – Thanks.

    Proof – Heh, heh, you wrote “lump.”

    Smite – Thanks much. Took a while to write, but I think it came out okay.

    MeToo – Eh, I would say eccentric, but I like your term better. :)