'Twas the night before Christmas, in the land of D.C., Not a creature was stirring—not even Rudy. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that indictments soon wouldn’t be there. The MAGA were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of rallies danced in their heads. And Melania in her chic, high-fashion attire, Pretended not to hear when Don said, “You’re fired.” When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, Trump sprang from his bed, shouting, “Fake News! What’s the matter?” Away to the window he flew in a flash, Pulled open the shutters and threw out some trash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Lit up a gold-plated sleigh parked below. When, what to his wondering eyes should appear, But a tiny red sleigh, and eight huge reindeer. With a brash little driver, so smug and untamed, He knew in a moment it must be DeSantis, unnamed. More rapid than lawsuits, the insults they came, And Trump whistled and shouted and called them by name: “Now Rudy! Now Jared! Now Ivanka and Flynn! On Bannon! On Hannity! Let’s all cash in! To the top of the tower, let’s tweet, ‘STOP THE STEAL!’ Fake news won’t stop me; the election’s not real!” As lawsuits that flounder and never take flight, He ranted and raged long into the night. So up to Mar-a-Lago the reindeer they flew, With a sleigh full of grievances, and Trump’s ego too. And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof, The thud of a golf club—an unmistakable proof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney came Trump, in a red sequined gown. He was dressed in Armani, from his head to his shoe, With a long orange tie—his usual hue. A bundle of lawsuits he had flung on his back, And he looked like a grifter, just opening his pack. His eyes—how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry! His cheeks were spray-tanned; his hair was… contrary. His small little mouth was drawn up in a smirk, As he tweeted, “I’m the best! Santa’s a jerk!” He spoke not a word, but went straight to his phone, Tapping out caps-lock in a narcissist’s tone. “And to all who are watching, the ratings are great, Nobody’s better than me. I’ll make Christmas great!” Then laying his finger aside of his nose, He sniffed (like it’s Adderall) and struck a grand pose. He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew, like a well-aimed dismissal. But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight, “Merry Christmas to me! And to me, a good night!” Not-so-humbly rendered by ChatGPT-4o. Not bad, eh?
