Hiding From Comfort and Joy

I wished Merry Christmas to wonderful soldiers –
not any American; rather, Chinese –
who run the canal that we paid for in Panama;
the very same one that I’m hoping to seize.

I then made a novel suggestion, unprompted:
A 51st state, all made up of Canucks –
but only if Gretzky, the Great One, takes over.
(If Trudeau remains, then I don’t give two fucks.)

Again on my list: a new play made for Greenland.
For U.S. security, clearly we need it.
There’s just one small problem – it’s highly unlikely
that Denmark is willingly gonna concede it.

I then offered startling seasonal greetings
to Lunatics (Radical Left), who are hell-bent
On vengeance against their opponent (that’s ME);
so, the cost to remove them will be money well spent.

And then, in my sights: why, it’s Sleepy Joe Biden!
In light of the season, would I wish him well?
Fat chance – since his pardons prompt only such language
as “killed, raped, and plundered”; likewise, “GO TO HELL!”

No joy; nothing gracious, or prayerful, or loving.
No hint of good tidings, or holiday blessings.
No mention of time-honored holiday customs –
instead, just a series of rants and down-dressings.

My Christmastime tirades – by now, a tradition:
voluminous vitriol, proudly prodigious.
My message, a simple one, stated quite clearly
is this: I am not in the least bit religious.