12/14/2009 10:00 AM
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the station
Not a creature was stirring, because it was on automation.
All the time cards were hung by the time clock with care,
In hopes that St. Obama would never be there.
Most of the staff were nestled all snug in their beds,
While hopes of having a job next year danced in their heads.
When suddenly out on the tower there arose such a clatter,
I awoke from my chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the window, I flew like a flash
I ripped open the back door and found the source of the crash.
The moon was shining on the new-fallen snow shower,
So now I could see the crap now stuck on our tower.
Looking up to the antenna and what did appear,
But a miniature limo and eight tiny reindeer.
It had a crabby old driver, so this couldn’t be good news
I knew in a minute it must be Obama with his cabal of new rules.
More rapid than eagles, his FCC bureaucrats and commissioners, they came
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.
"Now, Genachowski, now Copps, now McDowell, Baker and Clyburn," he said
"Get going, you bureaucrats and government czars
Start changing those rules into ones broadcasters will dread."
So to the front of the station the bureaucrats they flew,
Bringing Obama’s sleigh full of regulations and oppressive new rules too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard a groan from the tower
The whining and threats from each little bureaucratic power.
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
In the front door Obama came with a bound.
He was dressed all in black fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of threats and new rules he had flung on his back
He looked like a DC lobbyist just opening his pack.
His eyes — how they squinted! His dimples — how scary!
His cheeks were like roses! His nose like a blackberry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up in a glare
And he looked like he was ready to swear.
The stump of a cigarette he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He was thin and wiry, a right jolly old elf
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
But with a snarl and smirk and a twist of his head,
I soon realized I had plenty to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Flinging upon us new rules and regulations — all dispensed with a smirk.
Sticking his finger in the eye of our manager,
He then turned to me and said, “What is the matter?"
As he flew away, it reminded me of something Al Gore might say,
"You sure are making a huge carbon footprint today."
And to all you broadcasters, I heard him say, "Tough luck
You just thought you owned the spectrum on which you’ve made a buck."
So, just when you think you have nothing to fear,
Let’s see how much you like broadcasting by this time next year.