The Right, Before Christmas

Here's a holiday treat for all. It's a reworking of the classic poem, The Night Before Christmas (written by Major Henry Livingstone, Jr., a Canuck, and not Clement Moore), as reworked by a delusional governor's wife.

"I am late," said Santa. "My last stop took hours, all that coal I delivered down The Courant's tall towers.

"They used to be good girls and boys," Santa said. "But the poison pen's power has gone to their head.

"And I have the same problem at the media stations, they've just simply forgotten good human relations.

"Their thirst and hunger for the day's biggest story has earned them black coal for their ill-gotten glory."

"Oh Santa," I said, "that is sad, I agree. They've acted like Grinches who have stolen our tree.

"They whipped themselves into a mad feeding frenzy. They've embarrassed our children and our Mama McKenzie.

"But this is the season of joy, peace and love, and forgiveness which comes from our Lord above.

"A time for compassion to give what we can, to lift up the spirits of our dear fellow man."

"Ho, ho, ho," went Santa. "I say that's the gist. Now why don't you tell me what is there on your list."

"Dear Santa, this year bring warmth to those cold, and safety each day to the young and the old.

"Bring our soldiers home safely without any hitches, and give evildoers a kick in the britches.

"Help the lonely find love, and the lost find their faith, take the drugs off our streets so our children can play.

"Give our teenagers wisdom and courage and health. Show them family and friends are the best kind of wealth.

"And last, but not least, for the man next to me, a new year that is peaceful and refreshingly free of rumors and hearsay that do nothing but smother the positive works we should do for each other.

"This man who has given you many years of his life, who has stood tall and strong throughout good times and strife.

"He has championed our cities, our schools, and our arts. He's made sure our children are ready and smart.

"He doesn't get bullied by big union bosses who picket and whine and dwell on their losses.

"He's the man with the plan for the good of our state and he won't let press twist and turn our state's fate.

"So please, Mr. Santa, won't you grant me this plea, and tackle this list that I have drawn up for me?"

Santa stood up and gave me his hand. "That's quite a tall order, but I'll do what I can. I'll spread Christmas cheer to each city and town, to each man, woman and child, and I won't let you down."

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight/"What's with all these lunatics on the far right?"

Put away the eggnog, Patty, and start planning for those conjugal visits.