A (belated) Christmas Eve submission

I sent this out last night to an email list I'm on with some friends, mostly blogger and journalist and wonk types (people of the Village! oh no!), and I'm making it public by popular demand. Enjoy. [Update: Just to clarify, yes, this is an original (other than the obvious original source poem) -- if I was lifting it from somewhere I'd cite! I'm just a good rhymer : ) ]


Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the net
Not a creature was stirring, not even bad debt.
The arguments sent through the tubes with great care
In hopes that persuasion would cut through the air.

Reporters were nestled all snug in their scoop
With thoughts of the bonuses soon they'd recoup.
And some on their websites and others with mags
Rememb'ring days when they wrote for the rags.

When on the campaign trail there 'rose such a clatter
Scribes sprang from the bar to see what was the matter.
Away to the stump speech they flew with a flash
Tore open their notebooks and made quite a splash.

The candidates spun to the journos with glee
Saying "I will win Iowa by ten points, you'll see!"
When what to their wondering eyes fast appears
But the most open race for the preznit in years.

With a maverick, CEO, preacher and more,
The right provides fodder and stories galore.
Experience takes on hope in the fight on the left
With a charming attorney increasingly deft.

More slick than an oil spill the candidates seem
As the White House draws near in their eyes there's a gleam.
And they pander and fundraise and talk themselves out
In the hopes that the voters will lose any doubt.

Now Rudy! Now Romney! Now Edwards and Clinton!
Obama! Fred Thompson! But will anyone listen?
To the top of the polls! To the top of the caucus!
Now speechify, ague, make white papers glisten!

With the bloggers and writers and wonks all atwitter
Just wondering who of them all would deliver.
A flick of the pen and a parsing of claims
Soon gave me to know that I'd see all the games.

And laying their finger aside the computers
And giving a nod to their old econ tutors,
They sprang to the screen, to their editors gave a whistle
And away they all typed like propelled by a missile.

But I heard them explain, ere they plucked at the keys,
Happy campaign to all, and bring free food please.