A Conservative Christmas Horror Story for the 2020s “‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung in the White House with care, in hopes that Saint Forty-Five soon would be there-” I glanced at little Ayn and Rand to check their reactions to my dad jokes, but they were either asleep or pretending to be. So I tucked in their thin blue line quilts and I tiptoed off to bed. In the middle of a nightmare that I was held prisoner in a FEMA death…