A glum Dennis Hastert took off his suit, donned his slippers and nightcap and sat before the fire to take his gruel. The long season of legislative humbuggery had not ended well for Republicans.

Renewal of the Patriot Act had gone down in flames. Drilling in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge was deep-sixed. And the budget battle was stalemated by Democrat mischief.

Then there was the hoo-ha over presidential spying. The Tom DeLay mess. The Iraq thing. The Duke-Stir’s Rolls-Royce. Those bridges to nowhere.

Fie on senators! And Democrats. Who told them to sprout a spine now? And can’t the pesky public and outraged media dunderheads see this is how things get done in Washington? Anyway, what’s a little golf between amigos?

“Bah!” muttered the House speaker, snuffing out the candle.

As he pulled his nightcap about his ears and settled into bed, Hastert heard the clanking of heavy chains and looked up, stunned to see the pale apparition of Newt Gingrich gliding through the room.

The white-haired figure rattled his chains, brandished a dog-eared copy of the Contract with America and intoned:

“I am your former mentor, now doomed to wander the sets of televised shout-a-thons and talking head-dom for eternity. I was once omnipotent, wresting an out-of-control Congress from corrupt Democrats. Now, I’m warning you away from echoing their mistakes and mine.”

“You will be haunted by three spirits. Without their visits, you cannot hope to shun the path I tread. Expect the first when the clock tolls one.”

“Humbug!” Denny bleated shakily, as Newt’s girth vanished and his Contract with America clattered to the floor.

The speaker picked it up and nervously thumbed the soporific tome. He flipped past phrases like “restore accountability to Congress,” and “end the cycle of scandal and disgrace.”

When the clock struck one, Hastert looked up to find former Democratic Rep. Dan Rostenkowski and Speaker Jim Wright hovering in the room.

“We’re the Ghosts of Congress Past,” they moaned.

As Hastert watched, a video iPod sprang to life with photos of Rosty trading congressional postage stamps for cash and meekly submitting to cavity searches. And of Wright, tormented by a young Gingrich, relinquishing his office over book fees.

“You were crooks and Democrats, and got what you deserved. Haunt me no longer!” snapped Hastert.

Soon the clock struck two. A dozing Denny awoke to find Jack Abramoff in a slick suit, Tom DeLay in plus-fours and Sen. Ted Stevens in a pork barrel.

“We’re the Ghosts of Congress Present,” they bellowed. “And we’re taking this haunting thing to a whole new level,” added Abramoff. “Golf trips to Scotland? $82 million from Indian tribes? Who cares? Greed is good!”

“Soft money, hard money, any money,” DeLay chimed in. “Rules are little league.”

“And speaking of humbug, this whole fiscal responsibility sham is nothing but discrimination against Alaska,” grunted Stevens.

“What about values?” Hastert quavered. “‘Values?’ How quaint,” jeered DeLay. “Our values are to reward pals and elect more Republicans.”

Then they were gone.

The speaker fell into a deep slumber. He dreamed that a cloaked Ghost of Congress Future led him to the Capitol. But the building was dark, its windows were broken and rats scurried along the floors.

“What of Congress?” he asked.

“‘Bout as useful as side pockets on a hog,” replied the ghost. “They thought keeping their job was more important than doing their job. So we moved the whole shebang into the West Wing.”

At that moment, the cloaked figure obscured the distant shape of the Jefferson Memorial and turned to reveal the grinning face of W.

Denny stirred, but kept on sleeping.