How Barack ALMOST Saved Christmas

Kris Kringle stood worried, a cloud on his soul.

The recession had struck like a typhoon-force blow

Keeping Santa's fine reindeer at home in the snow.

With no money for mothers and no credit for dads,

He knew that this year was sure to be bad.

Old Santa was grounded, his sleigh repossessed,

He'd laid off some elves, and just pink-slipped the rest.

He stomped round the toyshop, with red in his face.

"Not a toy did we make here, just look at this space."

Then at once came a racquet from out in the night,

Through the windows he squinted at red and blue light

At the top of the world, in the darkness and cold

Through brilliant strobe flashes, a motorcade rolled.

He stumbled outside as some strangers approached

Black-suited men and a motorized coach

They had things in their ears and all wore dark glasses

Not dressed for the climate, some fell on their ... well, you know.

As the long, black car halted, a door opened wide

And one man saluted as he stepped to the side.

"Fear not dear old Santa," a voice said from the back.

"I'll help you save Christmas or my name's not Barack!"

The man popped from the car and shook Kringle's hand.

"Change is my mantra, it's very well planned."

"I'll bail out your shop, like I did AIG."

"And then let the taxpayers shell out the fee!"

But I must get approval, now let me ask nice,

From the next round of congress, standing there on thin ice.

How say you Pelosi, and Boxer and Franken.

Speak up now John Boehner, McCain, and Bill Jenkins.

The man quickly counted, then wiggled his ears.

"I've not seen a split vote like this in some years."

As panic did settle in the nervous man's heart,

He counted once more, math was never his art.

He'd tallied the votes, though his efforts were slow.

Half said ok, the others said no.

"Look, I've got to go now, though it's been a blast."

You'll have to blame congress, for your business collapse.

He straightened his suit coat, and bounded away,

Leaving Santa confused and in great disarray.

"Wait," Santa said, "You said you could help?"

"I could have been rejected by congress myself!"

But he got no reply from the tall gangly man.

Change was a good slogan, but not much of a plan.

Santa stood in the snow, the cold chilling his bones,

As he watched the car leave, down the dark Arctic road.

"It's over and done with," he whined to his elves.

"We'll just wait 'til two thousand and twelve."