By Dick Cheney
Twas the night before inauguration, when all though the white-house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a neo-con louse
The prisoners were hanging in Gitmo, by their hair,
In the hopes that some Court, soon would be there.
My minions were nestled all snug in their beds.
While visions of beating libs, danced in their heads.
And Mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a loud bell,
I got up from my bed and screamed “What the Hell!”
Away to the window I limped with a sneer
I promised the culprit would not persevere!