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    Rod Haxton, editor

Twas the Night Before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, and like each day before, The president was tweeting. He’s become quite the boor. He’s angry at someone. It’s his typical MO. He’s incapable of functioning unless there’s a foe.

Trump had just snuggled down, alone in his bed While memories of Stormy danced in his head. McMasters and Kelly had tucked him in tight, Their babysitting was done, at least for the night.

The White House was empty, silent and cold, No one wanted to be here, so Trump had been told. People were quitting, their reasons seemed lame, Leaving only Ivanka, and her husband What’s-His-Name.

“I wanted a wall but I’m having no such luck, It’s not my fault. Blame Nancy and Chuck.” The things that he’d promised are still left undone, He thought being president would be lots more fun.

It was getting late when Trump heard such a clatter. “Darn illegals,” he said. “I’d better see what’s the matter.” He went to the balcony and was amazed at the sight. It was a miniature sleigh under a bright, moonlit night.

A figure was nearby with subpoenas in hand, Trump was shaking with anger. He recognized this man. Robert Mueller had assembled a rogue’s hall of fame, And he proceeded to call out each one of them by name.


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