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Fri Dec 23, 2011, 04:56 PM

‘Twas the Night Before Iowa … (A Visit From St. Reagan)



‘Twas the night before Iowa, when all through the state,
The wingnuts were fuming, their heads fat with hate.
The caucus was planned, in just over a week,
Yet the GOP candidates were unelectable freaks!

The reporters were nestled, in bedbug motels.
Their noses recoiling from strange Iowa smells.
Of corn syrup fields, and thick manure dollops,
and visions of Newt giving trinkets to trollops.

When out in the lobby there arose such a clatter,
Candy Crowley ran out to see what was the matter.
Out by the remote truck, a big plane had crashed.
And a zombie crawled out with a sackful of cash.

The moonlight it bounced off the black salted ice,
As the undead old man told the same dumb joke twice.
Then he turned mean and weird and his voice was a bark,
Aimed at eight tiny cretins holding hands in the dark.

This grim wrinkled ghoul in his Air Force One slippers,
I knew in a flash that it must be The Gipper!
More vapid than talk shows, more empty than air.
Could this rotten old corpse save the eight cretins there?

Much MUCH more at link: http://wonkette.com/458786/twas-the-night-before-iowa-a-visit-from-st-reagan

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