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Seasons Greetings 

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'Twas the week before Christmas, when all through the state
Utahns gathered at school boards, boiling with hate.
The books and the lesson plans, assembled with care
Were piled on kindling, as smoke filled the air.
The children were huddled under desks, behind doors
With visions of gunfire and deafening roars.
Mom cheered, "Let's go Brandon!" Dad donned a red cap,
While the unsheltered outside took a long winter's nap.
When from Capitol Hill there arose such a clatter,
I jumped on my bike to see what was the matter.
Away to the chambers I flew like a flash,
To find mostly white men, dividing our cash.
The moon lit the ground where there should be more snow,
Showing warm, sticky mud bubbling up from below.
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But Governor Cox, arriving near.
He had driven from Fairview, lively and quick,
But do not be fooled, he's hardly a hick.
More rapid than eagles, his excuses they came,
He whistled and shouted and called them by name:
"We're the best managed state! It ain't broke so no fixin'
And to upset the base would be a big riskin'
To the Vivint Arena! To the Governor's Ball!
Come write a check, write a check, write a check all!"
As trees that before inland hurricanes fly,
Torn from their roots and thrown through the sky,
So back to Fairview the governor flew
With a truck full of donations, and gasoline, too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard from the street,
The squealing of tires and the pounding of feet.
As I locked up my bike and was turning around,
A car-struck pedestrian lay on the ground.
He was covered in blood, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with asphalt and soot.
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
For he'd just finished shopping before the attack.
Ambulance lights twinkled, as responders carried
The body away, soon to be buried.
It was only a minute before what caught my eye
Was Representative Schultz, spreading dark lies.
"An audit," he said, "will undoubtedly show,
"The flaws in mail voting that only I know."
Speaker Wilson was there, silent and scheming
Searching for ways to send initiatives fleeing.
No ganja for grandma, no wine on the shelf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A crack of his gavel and a twist of his head
Was all it took to fill lawmakers with dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Carving the state like a right, proper jerk.
Democrats protested, but he thumbed his nose,
And then made sure to strike a more humble pose.
I turned on my heels and gave a sad whistle,
Wanting to leave that foul place like a missile.
To you, dear reader, as I bike out of sight—
"Happy holidays to all! And to all a good night."

Private Eye is off this week. Benjamin Wood is the news editor at City Weekly.
Send comments to bwood@cityweekly.net.

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Benjamin Wood

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