Don watched unhappily as Irma ripped through the Caribbean,
It was enough to whiten the face of the most bronzed Floridian,
In Maryland, monitoring Fox’s monitors his eyes grew ever bigger;
Camp David’s quite close enough to the action for this leading figure.
Donald certainly didn’t mind Cuba taking a hit,
Commies getting blasted worry him not one whit,
But when he sees the Land of the Free is in Irma’s path
Far too much prime Florida Real Estate is in line for a bath.
Now the size of the approaching apocalypse is finally grasped
He kneels, and together two tiny trembling hands are clasped,
A thought for the poor, the homeless, all those lost and scared,
And he prays, like a man possessed… that Mar-a-Lago be spared.
On his first flight our President moans and bitches,
The witch hunt is on, which he sees as most unfair,
In these first 100 days he’s had his share of glitches
So it’s GREAT Fox will take his- not fake- word to air.
Then leave ’em polished, constantly spinning up there.
The news the Left wing media rolls out and pitches
Make his dream trip on Air Force One a nightmare,
Pressure is building on his mind and in his britches,
And Nut Jobs note is proving a pain in the derriere.
Will Don come clean, or rely on flameproof underwear?
Roger Ailes has gone up to meet his Redeemer,
The hard-nosed old news hound is going home,
Saint Peter looked up at the abrasive old schemer
Then back down to check him in his weighty tome.
Rog watched the febrile fingers creep down the page;
A blessed eternity was what the saint was going to take,
Oh, Good Lord, you’re still using books in this digital age?
Couldn’t You update the Pearly Gatehouse, for Pete’s sake?
Rog grumbles as Saint Peter kept short sightedly looking,
Till Saint Peter found a note to which to Rog he gladly relayed,
‘The Management regrets that it has transferred your booking,
You poor soul, don’t you recall that Damned great deal you made?’