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The Election Before Christmas
'Twas the week Before Christmas, when all through nation,
Not a Democrat was sleeping, nor even on vacation.
The ballots had been poked, and manually counted with care,
But no way could Gore win, and have it look fair.
The Republicans were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of tax cuts danced in their heads.
And Tipper in her blue jeans, and Al in his thong,
Had just settled down after a hit from their bong.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
Al sprang from his bed to see what was the matter.
Away from the window he rolled with a crash,
Screaming for the secret service, and hiding his stash.
The moon on the breast of a newly hired Monica
Gave the luster of a cigar, or maybe a harmonica.
When what to his wandering eyes should appear such a spectre,
But a miniature machine, pulled by more than one elector.
With a driver like Buddha, but oily and scaly,
He knew in a moment it must be the ghost of Dick Daley.
More rapid than weasels his electors they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
Now Florida! Now New Mexico! Now, California and Wisconsin!
On, New York, on Pennsylvania! On, Iowa and Oregon!
To the top of the electoral college, bring it down to the pit!
Now cheat away, cheat away, until a free election ain't worth spit!
As dry chads that before a Floridian's hangnail will fall,
When they met with any honour, for cash they would call.
So up to the college top the electors they flew,
With a sleigh full of taxpayer dollars, and Dick Daley, too.
He was dressed in a business suit, I think it was grey,
And his hands were still tarnished from 1960 till this day.
A bundle of dirty tricks he had slung on his back,
And he looked just like Stalin, or any other party hack.
His eyes -- how they squinted! His wrinkles how scary!
His cheeks were like oatmeal, his demeanour contrary!
His droll little mouth gaped like two scars,
And the number of his chins outnumbered the stars.
The stump of night-stick he held tight in his hand,
And a mist of tear gas swirled round him as he panned.
He had thick black glasses and a big fat gut,
That shook when he leered, as if he was reading some smut.
He was crooked and mean, a real old party boss,
That Al laughed when he saw him, despite his sure loss.
A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head,
Soon gave Al to know he had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word but went straight to his work,
Filling the bank accounts of each electoral jerk.
And using his middle finger, flipping the constitution the bird,
He dug up his nose, and pulled out 270 votes like a curd.
He sprang to his machine, to his hacks gave a bark,
And stole away the election as he flew into the dark.
But the American people heard him exclaim as hurried to go,
Now down south, to put the PRI back in power down in Mexico!
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