'The Night Before 9/11': a Holiday Poem

We realize that today is 9/11 Eve, and you are planning on spending your evening with friends and family in merriment. Sadly, this has become such a commercialized holiday, and it's important to remember the little things that make 9/11 so special. The true meaning of 9/11 is that it handed George W. Bush a second term as president, and that's easy to forget in the hustle and bustle of the season. Tonight, when you put your children to bed and they wait in fevered anticipation for that giant fat white-haired man, Dick Cheney, to come down the chimney and give them weapons, read them this simple poem.

The Night Before 9/11

Twas the night before 9/11, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, according to public statements by P. Goss.

The Abu Ghraib hoods were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that Dick Cheney soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of dead Iraqi kids danced in their heads.

While mamma in her Snuggie, and I in my cap,

Role-played "Jessica Lynch getting rescued," to which I do fap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from our camo sheets to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like an RPG,

Tore open the shutters and threw up my vodka Hi-C.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen leaves

Gave the lustre of spilled blood, down there, I believe.

When, what to my wondering eyes should sees,

But a giant black Escalade, and eight tiny detainees.

With a little old driver, so half-dead and grainy,

I knew in a moment it must be Dick Cheney.

More rapid than eagles his enemy combatants they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them racist names!

"Now Towelhead! now, Terrorist! now, Towelhead and Towelhead!

On, Absolute Power Justification! On, Cupid! on Towelhead!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!

Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the Katrina-esque wind fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,

With the Escalade full of "Toys," and Dick Cheney too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard with the roof chimes

The shrieks and gunshots and each little war crime.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney Dick Cheney came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with blood and with soot.

A bundle of bunker-busting "Toys" he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a gay terrorist, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they upset me! his dimples how crude!

His cheeks were so blue, his face deathly hued!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And a heart attack was kicking in for yet another blow.

The stump of a detainee's finger he held tight in his teeth,

And the anger cloud encircled his head like a wreath.

He had a broad face and a gaping round belly,

He swore the allegiance of Faust, and his words were all Helly.

He was chubby and plump, and would wilt any flower,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of his power!

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know he would not be dead.

He punched his fake heart, and went straight to his work,

And filled all the Abu Ghraib hoods, then turned with a jerk.

And throwing a few more Korans onto the pile in the fire,

And went up the chimney, screaming, "Fuck William Safire!"

He sprang to his Escalade, to his bloody slave detainees gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,

"Happy 9/11 to all, my actions are just and right!"