Twas the night before Christmas, in the grand White House dome, Not a creature was stirring, not even my comb. Stockings were hung by the chimney with flair, In hopes that St. Nancy would not still be there. The children were nestled, tweets fresh in their beds, While visions of golf courses danced in their heads. And Melania in her silence, and I in my cap, Had just settled down for a long winter's nap. When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window, I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash. The moon on the crest of the new-fallen snow, Gave a luster of mid-day to objects below. When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a fake news sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer. With a little old driver, so lively and wary, I knew in a moment, it must be St. Merry. More rapid than fact-checks his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name. "Now Satire! now Cynic! Now, Jest and Irony! On, Ridicule! On Sarcasm! On, Critique and Mockery! 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 wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky. So up to the rooftop the coursers they flew, With a sleigh full of sound bites, and St. Merry too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each clever hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Merry came with a bound. He was dressed all in memes, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with Twitter and soot. A bundle of soundbites he had flung on his back, And he looked like a pundit just opening his pack. His eyes—how they twinkled! His dimples, how sneaky! His cheeks were like roses, his tone oh, so cheeky! His sly little mouth was drawn up with a slant, And the beard on his chin whispered sweetly, "I can't." The stump of a pen he held tight in his teeth, And the parody encircled his head like a wreath. He had a sharp face and a knowing old tone, That shook when he laughed, like my mobile phone. He was sarcastic and slick, 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, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings, then turned with a smirk. And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a cheer, And away they all flew, like a mean-spirited sneer. But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight, “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a snide night!”