Twas the week before Christmas and through the Senate and House, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The earmarks were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there. The senators were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of pork danced in their heads. No budget was found just mischief and debt while the taxpayers owe their foreheads in wet. When out on the lawn, there are rows such a clatter, Senator sprang from their oxygen. What was the matter? Away to the window they flew like a flash tore open the shutters when they heard the word cash. The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow gave the luster of midday to objects below. When what to my wondering eyes should appear. But a 4000 page on me with endless debt year after year. With a little old driver, so lively and quick. I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles whose coursers they came, and he whistled and shouted and called them by name. Now McConnell now Schumer, now Pelosi and Vixen on Biden non stupid on dumber and Blitzen. To debt to bankruptcy to free money for all. Now dash away dash away more cash for all. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof, the prancing in Palm Beach. As the economy threatened to run aground down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bow. He was dressed all in for from his head to his foot, and his clothes world tarnished with ashes and soot. A bundle of earmarks he had flung on his back, and appropriators dream, opening his his eyes how they twinkled. His dimples how merry. His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry. This spending season instead of naughty and nice. Santa brought everyone something regardless of price. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, and I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself. A wink of his eye and a twist of his head. He said not to worry, there’s always defend. He spoke not a word and went straight to his word, undeterred by the debt each month with a jerk for naughty Pentagon that lost billions last year of fat stocking with extra cash and cheer. And don’t forget a delicious candy cane. Sweet with $40 billion to tide over Ukraine. Because of the climate, it’s not PC to lead cold. No one seems to care, because we’ll trillions don’t worry about leaving the budget of mass. Democrats have given you 87,000 agents of the IRS. So St. Nick laid his fingers on his nose and giving a nod at the chimney rose. He sprang to slay his economist to Gogue numbing the pain with a couple of eggnog up and away through the bigger countries in tatters. Free stuff for all. Sky High prices don’t matter. His last words as the wind lifted his sleigh, if people lack money, just print, it’s okay. That I heard him explain or he drove outside. Happy bankruptcy to all and to all a good night.