Seems Robert Hunter Biden received an early Christmas Gift this Holiday Season.
On December 8th, 2023 a Federal Court in Los Angeles, CA indicted Hunter on nine counts of tax evasion for engaging “in a four-year scheme to not pay at least $1.4 million in self-assessed federal taxes he owed for tax years 2016 through 2019“.
Well, not to defend Hunter, but when you’re busy entertaining girlfriends and escorts, staying in luxury hotels, leasing exotic cars, buying fancy clothing, managing an international investment fund, sitting on the board of a Ukrainian Energy firm, running an alleged shell company, pressuring clients to pay you, and sending 10% of the profits to your Dad it’s easy to forget you need to pay Uncle Sam taxes on all the money you’ve made (legally or illegally).
So, to celebrate Hunter’s early gift, and with apologies to Clement Moore’s classic poem “Twas the Night Before Christmas” on December 24, 1822, I present to you:
“‘Twas the Indictments Before Christmas“
‘Twas the Indictments Before Christmas
(As told by Hunter Biden)
‘Twas two weeks before Christmas and what did I see?
Nine tax indictments just waiting for me.
My lawyers were shocked, saying “How could he dare?”
“We thought Merrick Garland was told not to care.”
They were nervous and restless, filled with dismay,
They all thought Joe Biden controlled the DOJ.
And my Wife in her bathrobe, wool socks on her feet,
Asked “Won’t you be protected by Prosecutor David Weiss?
When out on the lawn there arose such a noise,
I though it might be Chris Wray and his boys.
Away from the window I flew like a flash,
And raced to the bathroom to flush down my stash.
I had to work quick with my big bags of snow
‘Cuz I feared punishment if they found any blow.
When, what to my paranoid eyes should appear,
But a tall, pasty man, with Kamala quite near.
Such a frail old man, unsure where to go,
I knew in a moment it had to be Joe.
More rapid than falsehoods his invectives they came,
And he coughed, and he mumbled, and dished out the blame:
“Why’d you party so hard?”, shouted red-faced ol’ Joe,
“Why’d you make me look bad, that’s what I want to know!”
Your free time and money wasn’t well spent
While making sure I got my required 10 percent!”
As debris before the wild hurricanes fly,
To save his campaign “It’s your fault!” Joe will cry;
So up to the front door the duo did wind,
With tar and feathers (the figurative kind).
And then in an instant, I heard at the door
The strange laugh of Willy Brown’s ex-paramour.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Thru the door my Dad came, his balance unsound.
He was all dressed in black, and looking for trouble,
Which made me wish I was seeing his double.
His handlers followed, Secret Service, and more,
In case he misspoke, or fell to the floor.
His eyes – how angry! His demeanor was clear,
His cheeks were all red, and his words invoked fear.
Words which were hurtful but also quite true,
As he told me without question just what I must do.
His hands he clenched in tight little fists,
With forearms extended, because he was pissed.
He yelled and admonished, and continued to rail,
“If you’re not the fall guy I’M going to jail!”
He was thin and gaunt, and full of himself,
And I cursed when I heard him in spite of myself.
With a look in his eye that gave me a shiver
I knew I was going to be sent up the river.
He spoke not a word and went straight to his work,
Taking my expense accounts and generous perks.
Then said “Hi!” to grandchild Naomi, Joe did,
(Without sniffing her hair ‘cuz she isn’t a kid).
He shuffled back to his limo, slowly ambling about,
Then away they all went, of that there’s no doubt.
And I heard him exclaim, with his voice full of cheer -
“Take the fall for me, Son, so I’m re-elected next year!“
Thanks for Reading!
