'Twas the night before Christmas

A friend sent me the following "modernized" version of the old classic. I don't know who wrote it, but is very apropos given the economy, politics and the markets in the last little while....

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the House
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The MPs had scattered – some thrilled beyond doubt,
That vacation came early with the G-G's timeout.

In the halls of Finance, a few souls still did toil.
Christmas Eve? Bah – they will burn midnight oil!
All parties' ideas must get thrown in the mix,
There's a budget to write, an economy to fix.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang to the window to see what was the matter.
There were Layton & Harper, looking madder than spit,
And the PM was yelling, "You want what deficit?!?"

"GM got $4-billion (with the Chrysler boys, too),
And there'll be billions more before it's all through.
I'm paying the most – not that whining McGuinty,
So don't you accuse me of being too flinty."

And the bald man – who's quick with a zinger or two –
Said: "You've got all the vision of Mr. Magoo,
Your budget will flop, at the end of the day.
You'd better start packing for old Stornoway!"

On Bay Street that night, you could hear not a peep,
The bankers went home. (To rest? Or to weep?)
When out popped a man – this was no jolly fellow,
And at the top of his lungs, oh my, did he bellow!

"Forget Dasher & Dancer, & Prancer & Vixen,
I call Clark, & Waugh, & McCaughey & Nixon!
I demand you lend money, and nearly for free!"
Santa Claus? Nope – it was Gov'nor Carney.

Everyone's got a wish at this time of the year,
Especially now, when the gloom is severe.
For bankers worldwide, just one gift will suffice:
An end to declines in the average home price.

Sprott wants more gold, more commodities stuff,
But Santa says no: "I think you've got enough."
But here's the wee secret poor Eric doesn't know:
Saint Nick lost 10 grand on the Sprott IPO!

For Potash's Doyle, Christmas presents are moot,
For the elves just can't top all that stock-options loot.
Some gifts would require intervention from heaven,
Like Mike Z's request to avoid Chapter 11.

Some folks like carols – a-wassailing they'll go,
But not grumpy Balsillie – that'd be RIM's CEO.
Even after the crash, he still has lots of green,
But he never stops asking to have his own team.

EnCana's big cheese doesn't like Christmas tunes.
(Country & western is what Eresman croons.)
But since oil fell hard, the man can't shake the blues,
And he sings about how breaking up's hard to do.

For Conrad the jailbird, at least it's not cold,
But it burns him to see Radler out on parole.
And who's that poor man on the steps of BCE,
Who cries over & over: "But we have solvency!"

When he opens his stocking, Don Lindsay, from Teck,
Hopes not to see coal
(it's how he got in this wreck).
Dominic's list, to no one's surprise,
Has only one item: "Please make equities rise."
"Can't help you," said Santa. "Though I sure wish I could.

A turn in the markets would do all of us good.
When my journey is done, I look forward with dread,
To informing the elves their pension fund's in the red."
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

And I heard him exclaim, from beneath his white locks,
"Merry Christmas to all – & to all some good stocks!"