A very contemporary Christmas poem

‘Twas the night before Christmas
And through the White House
Not a creature was stirring
Except for the louse.

The stockings hung heavy
Full of rubles they were
And the document ashes
Did not need to be stirred.

But the TV was on
At the top of the stair
Where the mad king was fuming
His face all a-flare.

He was twisting and turning
And tweeting in bed
As lies and delusions
Did dance in his head.

Swaddled in robes
And his red MAGA cap
He could not abide
Nay a moment of nap.

On this night before Christmas
Who might he smear?
Perhaps the troublesome Counsel
Who draws ever near.

Or perhaps he should plot
Some immigrant raids
To round up the Haitians
They’re all sick with AIDS.

Or to celebrate Christmas,
Perhaps he should bellow
That for every bad Nazi
He will find a fine fellow.

Or perhaps there’s a toady
Who could polish his shoes.
“Get me Pence,” he could order,
“For he can’t refuse!”

“Or perhaps a new tweet
To shore up my BASE,
My beautiful slice
Of the loyal white race!”

“Or perhaps I’ll remind
All the losers and jaded
That ‘Merry Christmas’
Is a phrase I created!”

“Or perhaps a fine task
Just to make me feel better:
To bare-chested Putin
I shall write a love letter – “

But then up the chimney
There rose such a clatter,
He assumed all his ministers
Were arriving to flatter.

Yet what to his terrified eyes did appear?
‘Twas the Counsel of most determined veneer!
Who called to his aides,
Dasher, Prancer, and Vixen,
“This man we have come for is far worse than Nixon!”

The mad king well knew
That he had much to dread,
So he pleaded for mercy
In the words that he said:

“I’ve made my friends rich,
I’m polluting the air,
I’m molesting the truth,
So why should you care?”

But the Counsel said nothing,
He went straight to his work
Listing the naughty wherever they lurk
Rounding up suspects
Foregoing a truce
Spreading joy thru the land
As he fashioned his noose.

“Be gone!” said the king
With a desperate cry,
“Or you’ll further compel me
To lie and deny!”

But with a finger of warning
Aside of his nose,
Swift up the chimney
The stern Counsel rose

Nor did he tarry
To kiss the king’s ring
But he did feel the need
To warn of one thing:

“It matters not, sir,
That you huff and you puff,
For the day may well come
When I put you in cuffs”

He sprung to his sleigh
To his aides gave a whistle
And away they all flew
At the speed of a missile.

But the king heard him shout
As he drove out of sight‍
“Merry Christmas to all,
We shall fight the good fight!”