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by Steve Young

Steve Young columns

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,
No pundit was stirring, not one single louse;
The scapegoats were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Bill soon would be there;

The Folks™ were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Factor Gear danced in their heads;
And Drudge in her 'kerchief, Gannon in her lap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
Unknowns filled in, minding the store,
Hoping a syndicator might need one more whore.
The Lords of Loud were taking a break,
Heavy lifting for sure, this spreading of hate.

When out from my speakers, arose such a clatter,
I first thought of Rushbo, just getting fatter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Had Goebbels returned, just being an ash?
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, fueled by fabrication and fear,
For a moment it appeared George was pushing more war,
Then, isn't that what the No-spinster is for.

With a little old liar, and a voice so ugly and shrill,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Bill.
More rapid than vultures, out talking points came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
"Now Coulter! now, Morris, now Wiehl, now Malkin!
On Goldberg! on, Gibson, on Miller and Ingraham!
Brought in to help to spread his disease,
Accusing all with whom Bill disagrees,

He was nasty and plump, with no semblance of class,
And I laughed when I saw him, pulling facts from his ass;
He spoke not a fact, but went straight to his work,
And made up a war; boy what a jerk,

Blame Soros, Blame Franken, Blame Moyers and Keith.
Blame Krugman, Blame Sheehan, Blame San Fran and Me-th.
Damn Moveon, George Clooney, and probably you,
Blame anything spelled A-C-L-U.

Blaming kids for their rape by a kidnaping drone,
Harassing producers he falafels by phone.
Jolly St Bill has no sense of shame,
It's Ludacris lyrics and France who're to blame,

No ego is larger than fills Old St Bill,
Blaming secular progressives for all the world's ill,
Divisive, derisive, humanity's bane,
Those who believe him must be insane.

I just have one question of Christ on His day
If He's still can hear me then what would he say,
About dear Old Billy and all of his spins,
Did Jesus want to die for O'Reilly's sins?

What a waste if He did, for Bill hasn't learned,
Scapegoating and lying leads to getting you burned,
And handing out gifts that are meant just for hatin.'
Make no better Christian than Hitler or Satan.

But Bill only listens to one Lord and Savior,
For he thinks he is God, his own favorite flavor,
So he'll continue to deem he's never been lewd,
No matter how stupid, insipid or rude,

For I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"I'll be eating in Harlem where they act just like white."

Steve Young is author of "Great Failures of the Extremely Successful...Mistakes, Adversity, Failure and Other Stepping Stones to Success" (

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Albion Monitor   December 22, 2007   (

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