Twas the night after voting, but the creatures were stirring...

The ballots were tallied by those duly sworn,
yet plans to upend them were soon to be born.

When on creatures' bed stands there arose cell phone clatter,
they sprang from their nests to see what was the matter.

By email and text, it was St. Walker the Phony,
hating on Josh and Mandela, and certainly on Tony.

St. Walker fumed at his creatures by name,
Road-builder Robin and Big Fitz of Fake Fame.

"Where were my voters, my WOW counties' numbers?"
"And why was I stuck with such bone-headed bumblers?"

"Now do you get it?," he exclaimed and exclaimed.
"Why we need new rules now so we win every game."

They nodded their heads and were turning around,
when down the chimney St. Walker did bound.

Dressed in blaze orange to hunt dirty work,
And a mask to hide his wink and a smirk.

He tore through the statutes to rig things ahead, 
while visions of plum jobs danced in his head.

His henchmen were awed at St. Walker's devotion,
he finished and turned without a commotion.

Up the chimney to the SUV he then arose,
his middle finger extended aside of his nose.

And they heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Coal in your stockings - - this is my right."