The Reagan, by Edgar Allen Limbaugh

Once upon a midnight dryly, while I pondered Bill O’Reilly,
Raging o’er The New York Times, their leftist crimes, in times, unsure.
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

Like some rapper, loudly yapping, rapping to his latest score.
“’Tis some liberal,' I muttered, “singing songs against the war,
“Only this, and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember; as we shambled toward November,
For head of state, a candidate my party had once scorned before.

Was it really John McCain? How had Bush gone down the drain?
Throwing Cheney from the train, in vain, from our convention floor.
“We need a running mate,” I cried, “A champion who shall ensure
“Our victory in the culture war!”

There and then, I flung the shutter, to hear a faint familiar flutter,

In swooped a stately face of saintly days of stately, saintly yore.

Never he a flip-flop-flipper; he, the famous Mondale-ripper!

There, the Gipper, looking chipper! Ronald Reagan, at my door!

Perched like Spiro Agnew on the ridge atop my chamber door!
There he sat, and nothing more.

“Sir!” said I, “God of the Right! What swift boat brings you here tonight?

“What lures you to my doorstep, here in lockstep, in these times unsure?

“Ancient king of make-up brush, who ruled before the dawn of Rush,
“You’ve got the touch, go to it, Dutch! Convey to me, I thee implore:
“Name to me the great right hope, who’ll chase Obama from our door!”
But he just sat, and nothing more.

In my feared declining sanity, I’d pondered names from Rice to Hannity,
‘Till came my way a lovely face, no trace I’d never seen before,
An arctic visage, soundly wailin,’ winkin’ at me, smilin,’ sailin!’
Arms a flailin’, Sarah Palin! She – the hockey mom next door!
The perfect demographic face, our Christian base, she would restore.
And Right to Life… forevermore.

But as her verbiage grew thickly, the leftist press grew somewhat prickly,
I could see us crumbling quickly, sickly, toward November four.
“Sir,” I said, “I fear each morrow. Is this our Geraldine Ferraro?

“Adding to our sorrow? Can she borrow, sir, your famed rapport?
“Please tell us how to win the day, when Palin greets the media corps!”
Quoth the Reagan: “Less is more.”

To fight our flock’s declining number, we next befriended Joe the Plumber,
With Sarah -- what a bummer! – wearing silken suits from Christian Dior.
“Sir, if somehow we win the day, not suffer death by Tina Fey,
“What will we say? What special ray of hope, sir, could we then explore?
The Reagan shook his head and said, “If you doth win November four,
“Pray McCain lives… forevermore!”

And now the Reagan, ever seeing, haunts our daily GOP’ing,
As the markets, in their downfall, bring a free fall to our party core,
Eight long years, a downward push; we can’t escape our burning Bush,
With the bail out, then the fall out, and the credit crisis at our door,
The Reagan, somewhere out there, that once made my party’s spirits soar,
May be lost… forevermore.