The event was the Breakthrough Awards, an annual gathering of celebrities and cyberbillionaires in Los Angeles that rewards those who’ve made lasting contributions in life sciences, physics and math with seven-figure prizes representing half what Jeff Bezos makes in a Planck time.

James and I chatted for a bit and rejected several ideas before settling on a rapid-fire version of Gilbert & Sullivan’s “The Modern Major General”, with lyrics customized not only for the occasion, but for the eight winners and their specific scientific accomplishments.

So I wrote a tribute to the eight extraordinary brilliant Breakthrough Laureates. And he nailed it. And that’s it up there, with subtitles. (The song itself starts at 0:56).

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www.nytimes.com/2020/04/02/arts/music/adam-schlesinger-songs.html

www.instagram.com/rememberingadam

THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS 2025

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and ever since dusk

Not a soul had been tweeting, not even a Musk.

The vaccines had been flung in the chimney with care

By RFK Jr. and his pet dead bear;

The Cabinet slumbered at home in their beds

While visions of competence danced in their heads;

And Melania in diamonds, and Ivanka in pearls

Slept in silk piped pajamas, just like normal girls,

When on the North Lawn something caused such a racket

That men with dark glasses prepared to attack it.

The noise was so loud that Dear Leader awoke,

Drew his curtain and watched with a fresh Diet Coke.

Since moving back in, he’d been using the lawn

As a paddock for training and keeping his spawn,

But what he saw now popped his eyes from their lids:

For a Mexican man, and his eight little kids

Were standing there, hungry and weary but strong,

In hopes that the country would let them belong.

As cute as eight puppies the children appeared

As the man yelled from under his wayfaring beard:

“Sì, Pedro! Sì, Sara! Sì, Juan and Ximena!

Sì, Emma! Sì, José, Luis and Helena!

We have made it up north! We got over the wall!

We have dashed away, dashed away, dashed away all!”

As hair, when propellors are spinning nearby,

Rises up like it’s frantically trying to fly,

So lawnward the INS frantically flew,

To offer the travelers a how-do-you-do.

They bolted like bullets from guns to the grass,

To welcome the Mexican’s immigrant ass.

They welcomed his nose and his jaw and his ear,

And told his eight kids, “We’re so glad you came here!”

(The nicer ones thought that the man and his scamps

Should be held at the border in nine different camps.)

No pleasanter sight could the Dear Leader see.

His diaper dripped yellow in gladness and glee.

He looked out his window supremely serene,

A fat, merry, half-humanoid tangerine.

His eyes were so beady, his hair was so shiny!

His face was so swollen, his hands were so tiny!

His skin, it appeared, had been daubed with a spray

So it looked like he’d suntanned on Venus all day;

Debris from a Double Big Mac filled his teeth—

Chopped onions on top, shredded lettuce beneath;

He had a bone spur, and a very round belly,

And a sweet, honest smile, just like Machiavelli.

Some laughed when they saw him, that can’t be denied;

They laughed, then they laughed ‘til they cried, then they cried.

A wink of an eye and a twist of his head

Told the INS Dear Leader wanted them dead;

So they set to work, and he watched from above,

This man, a man with whom this man was in love,

Whose agents gave boxes to kids Christmas Eve,

Kids who like many others were taught to believe

That he didn’t exist, because parents conceal,

For as long as they’re able, the fact that he’s real.

Then he went back to bed, giving one final shout:

“Motherfuckers, you all need to get the f**k out!”

A message from the content creator of the universe.