What Makes Christmas White

bad. "No room at the inn." Oh, that story again.

They'd have stayed at the Trump's fine Gaza's red sand. With a gold-plated manger and holiday

flair. And frankincense scented hotelier air. He mu- he muttered

of tarrif coots and red states. Of oil bends for vennee. Of blue coastal

face. He sniffed at the Nord Pole. "DuWoke needs reform." Then sold off the

elves in a seasonal storm. He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave

a tweet. And away they all flew like a billionaire's fleet. But I heard him

exclaim ere he drove out of sight. "On day one you'll all learn what makes Christmas white."