The ancient season shortened,
Arriving five days later,
When what the economy needed,
Was Christmas ten days greater.

The market watchers watched,
Peering on in fright,
While shoppers stayed home,
Not even shopping at night.

Clerks counted full shelves,
Instead of registers delight,
For the season's Christmas riches,
Were nowhere in sight.

"No money," the shoppers cried,
While holding wallets tight,
Christmas would be sparse;
For many, not even in sight.

Ah, this was the situation,
Caustic Stench loved best,
For the Stench loved to spread poison;
And wagging tongues did the rest.

His clansmen, sought the Stench,
The curmudgeons, the surly,
The grouches, plain and simple,
Down, dirty, and burly.

Foul attitudes and tainted dreams,
All those afraid to hope,
Were welcome at his sick table,
Feasting on plans up in smoke.

Prognosticators rose to the occasion,
With their seasonal decorations,
Of red charts and calculators,
And spread dismal sales expectations.

The DOW and the NASDAQ,
And employment, trended down;
The bellweather stocks,
To our dismay wore no crown.

The Stench was so pleased,
He could hardly keep his frown;
The ski slope trend grew steeper,
Going down, down, and down.

Stock tickers on desktops,
Spread bad news and despair;
As the Stench's noxious fumes,
Settled in everywhere.

"Half our sales come at Christmas,"
Screamed merchants in sorrow,
"And wages won't be paid;
There may be no tomorrow!"

"Nobody's buying!"
In unison they cried;
While the reeking Stench stunk,
With the slimy untruths he lied.

Hot air deflators,
And truth revelators,
Bull debunkers,
And bear elevators,

Basked in their prophecies,
That the sky would fall;
What goes up, up, up,
Always must fall, fall, fall.

The dot.com bubble rose in haste,
But fragile bubbles will bust;
And they looked on with glee;
As it bust as they trust.

The tech sector was put,
In its subservient place;
And tech stocks had to strain,
To even stay in the race.

Nine-one-one paid a visit,
Our economy to spay;
and Telecoms hit bottom,
no more markets to slay.

Come mergers, come layoffs,
Come fast the inevitable;
Come job loss, speed disaster,
End happy days... so regettable.

The Stench danced with glee,
With that sour look on his face;
Company stocks, a trainwreck!
Despair, all over the place!

The pundits projected news,
Of a prosecutor's field day,
For the behavior of everyone,
Had surely gone astray.

The signs of mutual greed,
Were visible for all to see,
For people like us,
Were robbing you and me.

Corporate flimflammers,
Ruled over the day,
While stock skim-scammers,
Made millions in pay.

Shiftless politicians,
Danced political shuffles,
And spin-doctors twisted truth,
Into merciless verbal scuffles.

And most effective of all,
Hate filled the air,
"You're different from me,"
Divided every single pair.

And even worse in the air,
War rumors did appear,
In whispers so loud,
Even money could hear.

The stench, that stinker,
Brought us words that stink,
And when we believed them,
Bought us a sea of red ink.

The economy sat shivering,
A mere ghost of its past,
Scared out of its flesh,
Certain this bust would last.

What you believe comes true;
The Stench sold us bunk!
Knowing we could be undone,
By thinking a rotten skunk.

As we thought our stinkers,
And partied on noxious stench,
The stock market sank,
In the negatory clench,

Of foobankers over sky-pie bakers,
And Web ending jimjambers,
Invited to their graves,
By bottom line think tankers.

And they all shrank in fear,
Their vision lacking scope;
Chanting "There is no recovery,
No money, no hope."

Our Christmas is surely poisoned,
The Stench wins the poll,
Having infected us all,
With his putrified soul.

Could it be that Christmas,
In this successful nation,
Forecasts a bleak future,
Of no money and short ration?

The Stench, the Stench,
Seeing only waste and corruption;
And in his rotting, stinking path,
Leaves only lies and destruction.

Christmas is not the economy,
Not numbers and charts,
Not the money we spend,
Nor a wallet in our hearts.

Not how good nor how bad,
Nor how corrupt we can be,
Not who stole some stock,
Nor got money for free.

Christmas is a celebration,
Of the very thing we forgot,
It's about hope and good cheer,
And hearts overflowing a lot.

It's a celebration of good,
And hope beyond ourselves;
Hope in peace and goodwill,
And love ringing like bells.

We stay in the pits,
For as long as we fear,
And overcome when we hope,
For Christmas love and peace is here.

Other distribution restrictions: None

Main Page
Page URL:  http://www.visualwriter.com/ReadFun/StenchPoisonedChristmas.htm