An irreverent but paranoid Christmas poem
[from The Tentacle of December 23rd, 2013]
’TWAS the night before the night before Christmas, and all through
the House (and Senate and White House),
Not a criminal was stirring (they are out on “Holiday Break”), not even
a louse;
The stock market was hung up by Obama with care, way up in
numbers, because of money from thin air (yours),
In hopes that St. Nicholas (or the Prophet Muhammad or whoever…)
soon would be there…
The children were nestled all snug with the Fed,
While visions of bankruptcy (thanks to student loans,
Obamacare, and credit card default rules…) danced in their
heads.
And Obama in his mischief, and me my job capped, lived in a world
where citizens slept and napped.
When out on the West Lawn, there arose such a blather,
I sprang from my bed just to witness the “mad hatter.”
Away to my Windows program I flew like The Flash,
Tore open my browser to prevent the computer crash,
(somebody had googled the ACA website)
With the moon on the breast of the new fallen snow, evidence now
mounted that healthcare reform wouldn’t flow… (the penalty
provision was just let go);
Gave the lustre of mid-term projects the slow (down)….and the
prospects for legacy.
When, what to my wandering eyes should appear,
But a miniature spy-drone, just enough to strike fear. (yes,
domestically)
With some joy-stick jockey as driver, no doubt a geek,
It’s our secret black ops, your pornography they seek. (The DoJ
has a hit list of “enemies”)...
More rapid than eagles, the drone-curses they came,
The drone-master so arrogant, he called on them by name,
Now transmit! Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen,
Turn on! Comet, Cupid, Dunder and Blixem;
To the top of the porch; to the top of the wall,
Images (some of them incriminating) to your files, you know
they will fall.
And should another Snowden incident befall,
Then dash away, dash away, dash away all. (with plausible-
deniability)
And then in a twinkling, I heard on my roof,
A photo-recon drone landed; “ah, there is my proof!”
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
A small package from Amazon lay still on the ground (postage due)...
’Twas not even espionage after all; just a delivery drone saving
a trip to the mall.
And I laughed when I saw this, in spite of myself,
I guess that this makes me a paranoid Elf!
“It’s my Samsung Galaxy Tab 3,” I exclaimed, as it flew out of sight,
Happy Christmas to all, now not with such fright.
...with sincere apologies to both Clement Clarke Moore and Henry Livingston, Jr. (originally attributed authors of this famous poem)
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