Tis a week left to Christmas There's a louse in our House

Tis A Week Left to Christmas – And a Blight on our House
Partisan Voices, Much Spittle, Much Grouse
By Terrance Gavan

Tis the week before Christmas, and down at the House,
In the Commons no stirring, a prologue to Faust
The members snuck silent, sickly smiles, laissez faire,
The PM Sussexed snugly, alone with that hair.

The workers are waiting, no jobs and no bread,
And facing this Christmas, less hopeful, with dread.
They’ve been dumped, duped and drained with boat loads of crap,
From a goldbrick’s regime, much trap and much clap.

No rhyme and no reason to Fridge Hair’s black patter
It’s evident now, he’s just mad as a hatter.
And nowhere is found redress from this hash
Most hoping the Tories just thud, boom and crash.

When faced with a verdict, our Harper said no!
The Commons be damned it’s my ball let’s go!
And off to the GG, the Crown’s rightful peer
Harpie ran from the people, that smile hiding sneer.

His obsequious toadies, picayune hicks
Worked bunkered magic from odd satchels of tricks.
And as Sweater emerged to their lickspit refrains
They all fled fairly quick from that Great Hall of Shame.

On Limo, on Bootlick, on Jackal you vixens!
On Cringer, on Mealy, on Minion and Lickens.
Back to the Bunker, and backs to the wall
He showed us how backsliders weather a squall.

And now as we wait, our new Captain Bligh
Sits solid at Sussex, awaiting ally.
Enter Red Michael, that bold ingénue
The Hair dances lithely, a quaint pas de deux.

“Come hither young Mike,” said la Bleu’s feckless Goof
“Don’t waggle that finger,” said Iggy, aloof.
“I’m not the same patsy … I’m not the same clown,
I’m here to say, there’s a new sheriff in town.”

And staring at Sweater, Iggy said, “You’re a schnook,
And from all I can garner, maybe even a crook.”
He laughed and he turned, and then retraced his tracks
“I’d advise you dear sir … to take on a new tack.”

And his eyes, oh they flashed, his visage quite scary
That look caused ol’ Hard Hair to beseech a Hail Mary
Iggy’s stare was alarming, cold as ice floe,
It turned Sweater’s pallor as white as new snow.

The Harvard professor then gritted those teeth,
And with steely stare, drew prose from its sheath
“You sir are nothing but a quaint Machiavelli
But bullies like you often fold like grape jelly.”

“For two year’s you’ve picked on a nice Liberal elf,
I’m warning you now … place those tactics on shelf”
Iggy then winked an eye and it served to embed
Herald Hair with gut feeling of imminent dread.

Iggy spoke not a word but turned with a jerk
Leaving Sweater alone with his feckless young turks
“On Fawner, On Flunky on Sop, and on Brown-nose
Now off to the Bunker, we’ve new dirt to expose.”

And sprang to the limo, Pavlov’s dogs to shrill whistle,
And away they all flew, like muck-seeking missiles.
And I heard jackal refrains as they sped off to incite,
“Bah humbug dear voters, oh … and have a nice night.”

Author’s note: Any aspersions cast in the above were completely intentional. And remember what the Blight Honorable Mr. Harper said following the bleak economic forecast from the World Banks. Implying that there are a lot of deals out there during recessions, Icy Hair reminded all Canadians that: “It’s a good time to buy.”
It may be incumbent upon us all to reassess this squalid, seedy and sordid incumbency.
Oh… and Merry Christmas.