A Poem for the Press

Salem Radio News' Greg Clugston has put out his annual "'Twas the Night Before Christmas" poem for White House journalists. After the jump, the "2008 White House Press Basement Version"... 'Twas the night before Christmas and in the White House, Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. Stockings were hung in the West Wing with care, In hopes that January 20th soon would be there. The president was asleep, all snug in his bed, While visions of Texas danced in his head. Can't wait to leave D.C., so cold and so callous, For the comfy confines of a new home in Dallas. Barney was napping next to the nightstand, Eager to bite another journalist's hand. Both Bushes settled down for long winter naps, Hoping to avert the automakers' collapse. What a year it had been, with its twists and its turns, From Jenna's summer wedding to meltdown concerns. From the popeâ€™s springtime visit and his "awesome" speech, To the shoe-throwing incident -- a security breach. There were stimulus checks to boost buyin' and sellin', Then came the book from disgruntled McClellan. In the campaign, Republicans were bailin', Bush was kept far from McCain and Ms. Palin. Suddenly, there arose on the lawn such a clatter, Dubya jumped up to see what was the matter. When, what to his wondering eyes did he see? But a limo coming -- from Treasury. Out stepped Hank Paulson in a red Santa suit, Complete with white beard and shiny black boots. He was armed with a checkbook to fix the recession, Handing out billions for every subprime transgression. "Now Fannie! Now Freddie! And now A-I-G! On Bankers! On Wall Street! And Detroit's Big Three! "We're pumping in cash for liquidity, And boosting long-term viability." The phone rang inside and Bush answered in time, A call from Chicago -- Obama on the line. "Sorry it's late. What an imposition." "No problem," said Bush. "Just part of the transition." Barack bemoaned Blagojevich; boy, what a creep -- The audacity, the hair, the (bleep, bleep, bleep). Facing last-minute jitters, Obama needed advice, The war, the economy, anything would suffice. And I heard Bush exclaim, without blowing his fuse: "Merry Christmas to all! Watch out for the shoes!"

Fishbowl

A Poem for the Press

Patrick

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Patrick