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‘Twas the night before Christmas and here I was broke.
My charge cards maxed out and that is no joke.
My 401(k) was in a lousy state.
I lay in my bed cursing my fate.
My holiday bonus had been taken away.
The mortgage not paid, I think since last May.
I was tired from shopping in vain at the mall,
And the fried baccala mixed with the Pepto-Bismal.
So I got up and headed down the stairs
To raid the fridge and quell my damn fears.
The stockings still hung by the fireplace with care,
But all were empty — just hanging there.
I’d spent all my cash on GM’s stock,
And now I’m broke and in a state of shock.
Instead of the kids going to Harvard or Yale,
They’re employed by the post office, sorting the mail.
I tried to buy me an Illinois Senate seat,
This Gov. Blago seemed mighty neat.
But I found later he was wearing a wire.
Now I’ll be wearing convict’s attire.
Then up on my roof, there arose such a clatter,
And I saw some fat guy carrying a ladder.
He looked like Andy, whom we call "Big Red."
He had a jolly face and sure looked well-fed.
He was carrying gifts and a six pack of Coors.
He just looked at me and said, "Time’s yours."
Once inside, we chatted awhile.
Andy cleared his throat and started to smile.
I ended up liking him by the time he was done
And he promised no more passes on third-and-one.
We talked about Bush and Dick Cheney, too,
And all the damage they’d stumbled in to.
He said, "Obama’s starting out mighty lame.
We voted for change, but change seems tame."
I said, "What’s with Rick Warren doing the invocation?
He’s anti-gay marriage and that’s my frustration.
I feel all of my hopes going down the drain."
"Don’t blame me," Andy said, "I voted for McCain."
And President Bush can’t even go to Iraq
Without being under shoe attack.
If GM and Chrysler go down too,
They’ll blame the unions — that’s the thing to do.
All the world’s in a terrible fix,
The Muslims all hate the Sikhs.
The Taliban is back and al-Qaeda never left.
On our city streets, there’s lots of theft.
Our libraries and pools closing, that’s a cinch.
Even the Mummers are feeling the pinch.
The stock exchange is in the dump,
Gas prices are still shaky at the pump.
But somehow, as the Earth is going straight to hell,
I think I hear the sound of a jingle bell.
My spirits are lifted. Christmas is here.
Andy laughs and hands me a beer.
And as Coach and Donovan rode out of sight,
I bet on the Eagles and call it a night.
