This one is from 2008. I hope you enjoyed them both.
A Hipster’s Night Before Christmas(2008)
Twas the night before Christmas, and all over the net,
Bloggers were bitching whom Barack chose to vet.
Their stockings were empty, their cupboards were bare;
St. Barack had stiffed them… with nary a care.
Their rants were nestled all snug in their blogs,
Their vitriolic comments virtually yipping like dogs;
Whilst, blear eyed, I, sipping my third nightcap,
Contemplated a lie down and a long winter’s nap.
When on Daily Kos there arose such a clatter,
I sprang to my keyboard to see what was the matter.
The front page I hurried to refresh like a flash,
It opened kinda slow… so I fired up some stash.
The photo on top of the newly formed page,
Was sure to send all the complainers into a rage-
Obama on the beach, reading Arne Duncan’s book.
Over a post entitled “Let’s give him the hook!”
Who wrote this I wondered, it seems a bit smelly,
I knew in a moment it must be that troll konopelli.
More rapid than eagles his kvetches they flew,
As he snorted, and ranted as his prose turned bright blue;
“Now, Centrist! now, Judas! now, blue-dog and Liar!
Oh, Stooge! Oh Judas, Oh POTUS for hire!
To the top of the Front Page! To the top post of all!
Rant away! Groan away! Kvetch away all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the top of the recommends kono’s bitches they flew,
“What a load of crap”… but that I already knew.
And then, with a startle, I hear on my roof
The prancing and pawing of eight sets of hoof.
As I lay down my mouse, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Barack came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fines, from his head to his foot,
But his threads were tarnished with ashes and soot;
A sack of new Blackberries he had on his back,
And he tossed me one… with a fresh powerpack.
His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His teeth were like perfect, his cold nose like a cherry!
His smile attested he was a right jolly fellow,
But the Sclera of his eyes were just a tad yellow.
The stump of a Marlboro he held tight in his teeth,
But he stubbed that right out when I passed him my keef;
He had a wry face and a little flat belly,
That jiggled, when he puffed, like Pam on the telly.
He was slim and dapper, his right jolly old self,
And I laughed when he asked “why you reading this Welf?
A wink of his eye and a nod of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had well fed his head;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Sat down at my ’puter saying “let’s deal with this jerk.”
He dispatched kono with some well crafted prose,
Then handing back the roach, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like an Exorcet Missile.
And I heard Barack exclaim, ere he buzzed out of sight,
“Merry Christmas, durrati, and to all a good night!”