Twas the Night before Debate
TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE DEBATE (with apologies to Clement Clark Moore and Steven Vincent Benet)
Twas the night before debate and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, except for one louse,
Hopes were hung high in homes cross the land,
For defeat of a bigot, most people couldn’t stand.
That bigot lay shaking in a four poster bed,
As humiliating visions danced in his head
Conway and Junior were outside of his room,
Thinking of ways to avert certain doom.
In the dark of his room Donald fell to his knees,
Begging for help from the powers that be,
He smelled something foul. Was it sulpher? Brimstone?
Just his own flopsweat or something unknown?
His room grew warmer as a spirit appeared
It wore a red suit and had a tail like a spear.
Still on his knees Donald started to beg,
The man shook his head, then shook Don off his leg.
The spirit looked angry, Trump knew that was bad.
But begged him anyway, looking contrite and sad.
The stranger looked grim, Don babbled like a brook,
Till the man pointed his finger at the craven old crook.
“Look here you bozo, you simpering dumb chimp,
You haven’t got the cred of a back alley pimp.”
You still owe me billions from past help I gave you,
You have nothing not already mine, you bazoo!
The Donald grew silent, he had to think fast,
Did he really have nothing of value at long last?
Wait! There was something he had and never once used.
His soul had to be somewhere around there, he mused.
His eyes opened wide, he spoke with conviction,
Although at the level of a twelve year old’s diction.
“Just let me win! Let me beat that old hag!
If I do then this election's in the bag.
I will give you this country, my soul for forever
Just give me the words that makes folks pull my lever!”
Satan’s grin grew wider, his eyes burning bright,
Donald stopped talking and started shaking in fright.
"Why are you smiling? Is that not a good deal?
I'll throw in Melania. I mean it for real."
The devil threw back his head, laughed loud and long
"If you think you ever had a soul, you're dead wrong.
Your pyre awaits you when you are expired.
And the first thing you'll hear is 'Donald, your fired.'
You'll be spit roasted forever, that seems only fair.
Your screams and begging just filling the air.
The debate doesn't matter nor does the election
And the same thing goes for your smallish erection.
So there won't be a deal, no help tomorrow,
Only more shame, despair and great sorrow.
But don't feel too bad, you still are a winner,
You're first rate, top notch, a world class sinner.
And when people say I am the father of lies,
I tell them its you who takes home the grand prize."
And with that the Dark Prince dissolved into smoke,
Leaving poor Donald the famed pig in a poke.
But the last thing he said, as clear as a bell,
Was, "So long you bastard, I'll see you in hell."
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