Thread by @RogueFirstLady

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even my spouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care
In hopes that the Mueller might stay away from there;

The lawyers were nestled all sweaty in their beds,
While visions of indictments danced in their heads;

The Donald in a panic, and I in my room,
His brains had been scrambled by a feeling of doom;

When out of CNN there arose such a chatter,
The Donald sprang from his bed to see what was the matter!
Away to the his office he flew like a flash,
Dialing his Android, his face like ash;

The moon on the breast of the Florida sand,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to his fat-fingered hand,
When, what to my wondering ears I should hear,
But The Donald screaming “FUCK!” and shedding a tear.

With a little excitement, my hopes rose surely,
I wondered for a moment if it was the Grand Jury?
If more rapid than eagles the Mueller had come?
With indictments and handcuffs, for my husband, so dumb?

He shut himself in, and lowered his voice so intently,
That to the door was my ear pressed, ever so gently;

It was names that heard, to share in the Twitter!
I heard “Putin!”
And “Paul!”
And “Cohen!”
And “Comey!”

There was “Flynn!”
And “Jared!”
And “Pence!”
And “Stormy!”

He said “Forget the economy! Forget the wall!”
He said “Dash away! Dash away! Save my balls!”

Like leaves before a hurricane his lawyers did fly,
Though they meet with an obstacle to which no lawyer can lie;
Still, to Mar-a-Lago his scared lawyer’s, they flew,
With the “counter-report” of lies The Donald made them write, too;

And then, through the door, I heard them all crying,
There was bitching and moaning about the dangers of lying;
As I drew away my head, and was turning around,
Up walked John Kelly, on his face a deep frown;

He was dressed in a suit, from his tie to his feet,
Though it was 3 in the morning when we did happen to meet;

A bundle of papers he had clenched in his hand,
And he looked like a witness resigned to taking the stand;

His eyes--how hollowed! His veins - - how full!
His cheeks were like roses, he wheezed like a bull!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
At me all his papers with anger he did throw;

The stump of a pen he held tight in his teeth,
And the ink of it ringed his lips like a wreath;
He had a red face and a soured, cramped belly;
That roared through his guts, the poor, poor John Kelly;

He was angry and sad, a shadow of himself;
And I cringed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
But the sink of his eye and the droop of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And picked up his papers; then turned with a jerk,
And using his finger to shush my mouth,
He fled from the hall, deep into the house;

He sprang to his room, to his team 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,
“I quit, Motherfucker! And to all a good-night!”