'Twas The Night After The Bailout
'Twas the night before Christmas, in Senate and House,
Not a CEO was stirring, although they be louse;
The billions were hung by the handouts with care,
In hopes that Saint Barack soon would be there;
The Chairmen were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of tax money danced in their heads;
And although near zero was their market cap,
That didn't dissuade them from shoveling crap.
On the White House lawn there arose such a clatter,
Rick and Bob feeding at the trough, always getting fatter.
Away to the bailout they flew like a flash,
Tore open the bank sacks and grabbed all the cash.
The Head of GM and his good Chrysler bro,
Sucked up giant truckloads of taxpayers' dough.
While the future of Main Street looked quite austere,
Motor City Scammers let out a Bronx cheer.
They were back in the driver's seat, lively and slick,
While Joe Citizen got the short end of the stick.
In quick rapidfire their excuses came,
Detroit should be part of the big bailout game;
"Now, Citibank! now, AIG! now, Fannie and Freddie!
They got loads of TARP cash, so cough it up, already!
From seven hundred billion, seventeen is quite small,
Which we'll cash away, cash away, cash away all!"
As unsold cars before the wild hurricane fly,
When they can't be financed, losses mount to the sky;
So up to White House-top the Chairmen they flew,
To collect the big check and the public to screw.
And then, if we really needed any more proof,
That this wasn't a real need, it was just a spoof,
No, the billions were not going to cause a rebound,
The whole lousy deal was only meant to confound.
When they squeezed Bush for all the available loot,
They turned north and went begging oot and aboot;
Hat in hand to Harper they went on the attack,
And of Canuck bucks they got another huge whack.
Their eyes, how they twinkled! Their pockets, how merry!
And they smiled as the taxpayer they happily buried.
They gave not a damn that they caused widespread woe,
It was Christmas, just let the bastards Owe, Owe, Owe!
The stub of the check Rick held tight in his teeth,
As he pushed the taxpayers' heads underneath.
His big broad face and his ugly round belly,
That made him look like Mr. Munster on the telly,
For he was Rick Wagoner, the CEO himself,
Who left any shame that he'd had on the shelf.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
And millions of taxpayers were going to be bled;
He spoke not a word, but looked up with a smirk,
And filled his Swiss accounts; that rotten old jerk,
Giving us the finger aside of his nose,
He gave a broad nod to his fellow CEOs,
He sprang to his Hummer, to his team gave a whistle,
And f***ed all America with his cash-seeking missile,
But I heard him exclaim, and in no way contrite,
"Happy Christmas to me, as for you, you can bite!"
Comments
AUTHORHey, Kika, love your blog. I only have two suggestions.
1) Keep it family friendly as some of the language you used will trigger Cybernannies.
2) Be careful about lambasting anyone, including former boyfriends. You don't want to get dragged into court, and once something is up on the net it stays there in the Google caches darn near forever!
Other than that, keep up the good work!
Signed: The Old Coot. :)
Heeeeeeey! Heeeeeeeey yooouuuuu!
Check out my new bloggy thing! http://kikashimko.blogspot.com/
I put your poem in there, because it made me giggle. ^_^ Plus, I've been using it as a sort of thing to put all my thoughts and stuff daily, so it's a much better way to find out what's up with me. That, and since I post almost daily, it's easier to talk to me that way. :P
So yeah! Please check it out! ^___^ *squee!*
*falls over giggling* Oh my god, Hal, that is so adorable! ^_^
That prose made my Christmas Eve actually worth enduring. Thank you, hun. ^_~
I don't have to write a poem back, do I? lol
- AUTHOR
Let me tell you about Kika Rose,
While I sit in my Xmas repose,
From the time I arose,
I'll open my Xmas bows,
While outside it snows and snows,
I hope I don't impose,
Through my highs and lows,
When I discuss her exquisite nose,
Her impeccable clothes,
A figure like Monroe's,
The boys she has in rows,
All the average Joes,
And all their average bro's,
Who can only dream to be close,
To be the man she chose,
And in their arms enclose,
That Minnesota rose,
And the graces she bestows,
As her online fame grows,
And everybody knows,
That no one may oppose,
There's no room to juxtapose,
Or to phrases transpose,
While the air outside froze,
This poem truly shows,
That Kika really glows,
She'll appreciate, I suppose,
My Xmas gift of prose!
^_^ And what a sweet Christmas present it is; a poem! Too bad it's not directly for me, else I would really be ecstatic. ;-P lol
I'm kidding, by the way.
- AUTHOR
Thanks! I tried crying about the $214 I was forced at gunpoint to donating to the automakers, but I figured that comparing Rick Wagoner to Mr. Munster was at least a tiny bit of revenge! :)
Hal,
A perfect commentary on the auto bailout. I guess laughing about it is all there is left to do. I enjoyed the hub immensly.
sschilke
- AUTHOR
Just consider it a Xmas present... Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good Hub! :)
AHAHAHAHAHAHA! xD This made me laugh so hard, my dogs were lookin' at me like I was freakin' nuts! *falls off her chair laughing*
Ah, Hal, you're always here when I need a good pick-me-up, and you've delivered yet another hilariously honest hub for me to read! ^_^
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