Wednesday, November 02, 2005

The Night Before Fitzmas

By Dennis Cariello, With Apologies to Clement Clarke Moore

Twas the night before Fitzmas, and in light of the rumor,
Not a liberal was worried, not even Chuck Schumer.

The media was set, their stories all written,
In hope that our President would end up like Clinton.

The bloggers were happy, and they squealed with delight,
As visions of indictments danced through the night.

Pelosi in her 'kerchief, and Reid in his cap,
Were assured that he never could beat this rap.

When out from Justice there arose such a clatter,
The nation woke up to see what was the matter.

Away from their soaps the public did go,
No Montel, no Jerry, no cross-dressing hoes,

When what with my wondering eyes did I see,
But a prosecutor from the windy city.

With his mountains of paper, indictments and writs,
I knew in a flash that it must be St. Fitz.

More rapid he was, then the left thought he'd be,
Indicting just one, poor Scooter Libby.

Shocked was the left, by omissions that came,
They wanted blood, and shouted out names:

"Where's, Cheney? where's Condi? where's frog-marching Rove?
No Bush? no Bremer? No '06 treasure trove?

Not a top level charge? Not one big time score?
Who cares about Plame, Bush lied about the war!"

Then sad and upset, the left went to their work,
Still harboring feelings that St. Fitz was a jerk.

"This is a big deal, Libby's crime you see,"
Dean said "Dems won't stand to not punish perjury"

And so he moved on, the Prez left unharmed,
With votes on Alito and a left that's disarmed,

And the media exclaimed, as they wrote through the night,

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