'Twas the night before Christmas, when out on the stump
Not a creature was stirring, not even a Trump;
The pundits were poring o'er laptops with care,
In hopes that enlightenment soon would be theirs;
The pollsters were nestled all snug in their beds;
While margins of error tapdanced in their heads;
And Susan with Chekhov, and I with Lee Child,
Had just settled down for a fun evening wild.
When out in the drive there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash.Read more
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