ARC's 1st Law: As a "progressive" online discussion grows longer, the probability of a nefarious reference to Karl Rove approaches one

Friday, October 21, 2005

The Left finds a "Holiday" They Can Support

While perusing the kookier parts of the Leftist Blogosphere, I've come across the term Fitzmas, referring to the pending conclusion of Patrick Fitzgerald's investigation. I've not commented on this before, but I just couldn't pass this up after I saw this:

The Night Before Fitzmas (An Epic Poem)

'Twas the night before Fitzmas, when all through the house
Not a Republican was stirring, nary a louse;

The stockings hung on the chimney for the season,
In hopes that St. Patrick would soon mention treason.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of indictments danced in their heads;

And pa in his bandanna, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a short evenings nap,

When out on the White House lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the computer I flew like a flash,
Tore open DU and pulled up my wonky stash.

The moon on the mullet of Harriet Miers
Shown the light of mid-day on all that conspire,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature Prius, and eight tiny reindeer,
[St Wendeler interjects: you just KNEW it was going to be a hybrid, right?]

With a little old driver, so lively and phat,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Pat.

More rapid than bald eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Kerry! now, Edwards! now, Clark and Howard Dean!
On, Clinton! on Boxer! Pelosi and Harry Reid!

To the top of the Capitol and over the Hill!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away still!"

As dry leaves that before the Cat 5 hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to the White House the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh of accusations and St. Patrick too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
No hemming or hawing just the sound of the truth.

As I read my monitor and was jumping around,
Down the chimney St. Patrick came with a bound.

He was dressed in faux fur, from his head to his toes,
And was bursting with news for DU and Daily Kos;

A bundle of indictments he had flung in his stacks,
And he looked like a prosecutor just stating the facts.

His eyes - how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like John Kerry's!

His droll little mouth was drawn up in a smile,
With a look of resolute in his eyes all the while;

With a brief little hiccup and a slight little burp,
He began talking and describing the perp;

"He has a big round head and a jiggly belly,
That shakes when he laughs like a bowlful of jelly.

He is chubby and plump, a right evil old elf,
And he laughs and he smirks, in spite of himself;"

With a wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
St. Pat let me know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke no more words, but went straight to his works,
And issue enough indictments to annihilate the jerks,

And laying a finger aside of his nose,
He gave me the signal that he had handled my foes;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like a rocket or missile.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Fitzmas to all, and to all a good-night."

And they say they're not deranged... The Clinton-haters in the 90's recognized after '98 that their hatred was idiotic (except for those firebombing pundits like Coulter). I wonder if the Left will similarly awaken from their hatred?

Your Co-Conspirator,
ARC: St Wendeler