‘Twas the Night Before Christmas: 2011
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a louse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care
In hopes a city manager soon would be there.
Mike Mearan was nestled all snug in his bed,
While visions of hookers danced in his head,
And Kalb on the toilet, in his dunce’s cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s crap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
Kalb sprang from the toilet to see what was the matter.
Away to the window he flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and smoked some hash.
The moon on the breast of a hooker below
Made him want to do wheelies in the snow,
When what to his wandering eye should appear,
But the recycled auditor swigging some beer.
A Kiwanian, looking dishonest and spent,
It could be nobody else but Trent.
Pixilated from playing financial games,
He whistled and called out some names:
“Here Horner! Here Raison! Here Tricky Nixon,
As sure as shootin’ I’m puttin’ the fix in.
You’ll all get raises, public employees all,
Cause your CPFA’s on the ball.”
“To Capital Improvements say bye-bye,
Cause they’re nothing but a lot of pie in the sky.”
Then up to the house-top he flew
Like an elephant jumping out of a zoo.
Meanwhile, tinkling, Kalb heard on the roof
A drunken footstep that he thought was a hoof.
Failing to flush the toilet, as Allison told him, he turned around
Just as Trent came down the chimney like a chow hound.
Like a black sheep from head to foot,
Covered all over with inches of soot,
He resembled a sweep who’d just come back
From supplying Mary Poppins crack.
His eyes so twinkling, his smile so Kiwanis,
His bulk was just short of dinosaurus.
A Certified Public Financial Administrator,
He was deficit financing’s favorite perpetrator.
He was chubby and plump, a gigantic old elf,
And Kalb laughed when he saw him in spite of himself.
A wink of Trent’s eye, which showed he would fudge it,
Made Kalb understand he would “balance” the budget.
Trent spoke not a word as he cooked the books,
Transferring funds to the usual crooks.
Then putting a finger up his nose,
He chuckled and up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his cycle and gave a whistle,
And away he flew like an unguided missile.
But Kalb heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
“Be sure to write Forrey an email tonight.”
Robert Forrey, 12/24/11