‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the White House, not a creature was sniffing, not even Jill’s spouse.

Zelenskyy’s stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that aid from the Congress, soon would be there.

The crackhead was nestled all snug in his bed, while visions of 8balls and hookers danc’d in his head.

With Joe in a coma and his nurse by his side, Nancy had just settled down with a bottle of rye.

When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter, Nancy sprung from her chair to see what was the matter.

Away to the window she staggered like she was smashed, ran into the window, and threw up on the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow, Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.

When, what to her wondering eyes should appear, but a dude in a dress, and eight kegs of light beer.

With little old Dylan, so lively and sleek, She knew in a moment it must be pride week.

So up to the house-top the influencer flew, with a phone full of TikToks — and Instagrams too.

And then in a twinkling, Nancy heard on the roof, the prancing and pawing of each cloven hoof.

As she burped, sputtered, and then turned around, Down the chimney Mulvaney came out with a bound.

It had a broad face, and a flat little chest, and you could tell in an instant it was clinically depressed.

It spoke not a word, but went straight to the reason it came, and fill’d all the stockings with pronouns and cocaine.

And laying its finger aside of its nose, and giving a nod, up the chimney it rose.

It sprung to its broomstick, and to Joe it gave a shout, and out of his room the dementia patient wandered out.

He fell down the stairs and landed right down beside him, and as they flew off I could almost hear Biden.

I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight —

“Happy you know the thing to all, and to all a good night.”

Source: Carpe Donktum, via 𝕏