The Fitzmas Spirit

John McHugh of Green Oaks writes (to the tune of "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen"):

Wake up, old Rod Blagojevich, the Feds just rang your bell.
Just step outside … and take a ride … no time for extra gel.
They heard the tape … there’s no mistake …
This state’s half-way to Hell.
Oh, tidings of comfort and joy, save Illinois! Oh, tidings of comfort and joy.

How could you, Rod Blagojevich? This really has me beat.
It wasn’t nice ... to put a price …. on that there Senate seat
The way you threatened Wrigley Field
How can the Cubs compete?
Oh, tidings of comfort and joy, save Illinois! Oh, tidings of comfort and joy.

Get real there, Rod Blagojevich, you’re much too smart a man
Remember what this state has done to Otto, George and Dan.
If Durbin doesn’t write a note
You’ll join them in the can.
Oh, tidings of comfort and joy, save Illinois! Oh, tidings of comfort and joy.

Mike Stawarski writes:

The Night Before Fitzmas

‘Twas the night before Fitzmas, all still at Rod’s house
While the Feds vetted transcripts: “That Blago’s a louse”.
A Senate seat’s empty, the temptation is great
To use the advantage and change Blago’s fate.

Rod’s plotting and scheming were thick in the air,
And Patti’s encouragement hung like a dare.
With Rezko convicted and Wyma on tape
Rod sensed a pressure he could not escape.

The dollar signs danced around in their heads,
With visions of firings for those who write ed’s.
And Patti in the kitchen and Rod in the den,
Had begun financial planning for 2010.

More rapid than eagles his ideas they came,
And he cursed and he shouted. His mind was aflame.
“Now, Tribune! Now, Cubbies! Now, Obama and pols!
This seat’s up for sale – for anyone…except moles.

“You’ll put up the money! You’ll pay, then you’ll play!
And meet me on my terms or I’ll snatch it away!”
After ranting and spinning, he twirled through the air.
(He then glanced at Patti, and asked ‘How’s my hair?’)

The Feds through the wire couldn’t believe what they’d heard.
Screwing sick kids for money – that’s just too absurd!
By selling the seat for the highest bid one would pay,
Rod fashioned a political form of e-Bay.

But Fitzgerald was ready – a warrant he swore,
The next morning, a phone call, a knock at the door.
“You’re joking!” Rod opined. “My conscience is clear!
They’ll love me again, from Troy to Kildeer!”

But the cuffs, they clicked soundly, and as he drove out of sight,
Illinoisians, they nodded – the Feds got it right.

(Trib cartoon)