Thread: Twas the Night Before Christmas ... Collection

The Effect Of Inflation On Santa
Written by: Dave Sharpe, Tarnation Magazine, 1948.

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
how the tinsel was scattered! and twigs by the thous-
and. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care-
They were skewered with ten-penny nails, to be fair.
The children, God bless them, were snug in their beds,
With clothesline to anchor the ankles and heads.

The Wife in her housecoat, and I clad alike,
Had gone to cellar to get the new bike,
When from a dark corner arose such a clatter
I felt a strong urge to forget the whole matter.

The wife said go over and open the door;
I grabbed a stout cudgel and crept 'cross the floor
And gingerly peered through the glass to behold
A wee red-suited man, turning blue with cold.
Suppressing my dire thoughts of a communist trick,
I flung wide the portal, admitting..... St. Nick!

Poor Santa came in stamping snow from his feet
And cursing cold weather and all central heat.
"Your chimney's too small for a man of my girth"---
Which shows what the power of tradition is worth.

I asked him to stay, as the perfect host ought,
And my gimlet eyes gleamed at the parcels he brought.
Upstairs in the kitchen, hot toddy in hand,
Old Santa had both of us folks understand

That the new station wagon he'd purchased this year
To replace his eight quaint reindeer
was the poorest investment he ever had chosen--
It stalled by our house the engine plumb frozen.

My wife asked him then if the high cost of living,
Had interfered much with the job of gift-giving.
"I'll say so," quoth he. "Why, a plain roller skate is
costing me
$40.98;
And the cheapest new belt, since inflation intruded,
Costs $11.27, all taxes included;
My labor is raising all manor of hob--
In fact, this here Christmas is too big a job."

He talked a while longer, but then had to go
When a wrecker from town came to give him a tow.
He left a tin whistle for Joey, our son,
And a watch for Matilda--I bet it won't run;

For the Wife, a new apron that makes her flesh crawl,
And a tie for yours truly completed our haul.
But I heard him exclaim, as he rolled out of sight,
"The blazes with Christmas--Tarnation is right!"

'Twas the Night After Christmas
By Jeff Foxworthy

===============================

'Twas the night after Christmas and all through the trailer,
The beer had gone flat and the pizza was staler.
The tube socks hung empty, no candies or toys.
And I was camped out on my old Lay-Z-Boy.
The kids they weren't talking to me or my wife,
The worst Christmas they said they had had in their lives.
My wife couldn't argue and neither could I,
So I watched TV and my wife, she just cried.

When out in the yard the dog started barkin'.
I stood up and looked and I saw Sheriff Larkin.
He yelled, "Roy I am sworn to uphold the laws
And I got a complaint here from a feller named Claus."
I said, "Claus, I don't know nobody named Claus,
And you ain't taking me in without probable cause."

Then the Sheriff he said, "The man was shot at last night."
I said, "That might have been me, just what's he look like."
The Sheriff replied, "Well he's a jolly old feller, with a big beer gut belly,
That shakes when he laughs like a bowl full of jelly.
He sports a long beard, and a nose like a cherry."
I said, "Sheriff that sounds like my wife's sister Sherri."

"It's no time for jokes Roy" the Sheriff he said.
"The man I'm describing is dressed all in red.
I'm here for the truth now, it's time to come clean.
Tell me what you've done, tell me what you've seen."

Well I started to lie then I thought what the hell,
It wouldn't have been the first time that I've spent New Years in jail.
I said, "Sheriff it happened last night about ten.
I thought that my wife had been drinking again."
When she walked in from work she was as white as a ghost.
I thought maybe she had seen one of them UFO's.

But she said that a bunch of deer had just flown over her head,
And stopped on the roof of our good neighbour Red.
Well I ran outside to look and the sight made me shudder,
A freezer full of venison standing right on Red's gutter.
Well my hands were a shakin' as I grabbed my gun.
When outta Red's chimney this feller did run.

And slung on his back was this bag over flowin'.
I thought he stolen Red's stuff while old Red was out bowling'.
So I yelled, "Drop fat boy, hands in the air!"
But he went about his business like he hadn't a care!

So I popped off a warning shot over his head.
Well he dropped that bag and he jumped in that sled.
And as he flew off I heard him extort,
"That's assault with intent Roy, I'll see ya in court."

LSU NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS


'Twas the night before the Sugar Bowl,
when all through the dorm
Nothing was stirring,
not one snooze alarm.

The helmets were hung
in the lockers with care
In hopes that ST. NICK
would be up to the dare.

The players were sprawled
in their big comfy beds,
While visions of game rings
danced in their heads.

And Emmert in his kerchief,
and Skip in his cap
Had just settled down
for a much deserved nap.

When out on the field
there arose such a clatter
They ran to the stadium
to see what was the matter.

Away to the team room
they flew like a flash
Tore through the players gate
and up to the hash.

The glow of the game lights
on the freshly mowed field
Gave them a feeling
that this was surreal.

When, what to their wondering eyes
should they see
But St. Nick, mid-field,
on bended knee.

With his head bowed,
in prayer and in thought,
St. Nick called upon the Tigers
who had previously fought.

More rapid than passes,
those Tigers, they came.
And Nick cried and shouted
and called them by name.

"Now Capone, now Rabb,
now Davis and Hodson"
"On Taylor, on Cassanova,
on Kinchen and Cannon."

Wearing white and gold,
carrying game balls
Came the all American players,
trophies and all.

Out of the mist
that surrounded the night
Came great Tiger icons
of Spirit and might.

Hundreds of players
with strength and pride
We watched as St. Nick
stood there and cried.

Then, with a mighty roar
from the gate did burst
The massive spirit
of great Mike the First.

And then came the coaches,
as St. Nick turned around,
Down through the players gate
they came with a bound.

There was McClendon
and Arnsparger
and Bernie Moore With Dietzel
and Stovall to even the score.

Larger than life
their spirits did rise,
And they showed St. Nick how to
fight for the prize.

Ever so slowly,
way up in the stands,
They started to see
those great Golden Bands.

With trumpets and tubas
and great drums to roll,
Their cadence and beat
awakened the soul.

They played Chinese Bandits
and the Tiger Rag,
And "Hey Fighting Tigers"
waving LSU'S flag.

Through the stands
were fans from years past,
Shouting and cheering,
their numbers were vast.

St. Nick turned around
with conviction and pride,
and ran across that great field
lengthening his stride.
> >

As the mist gave way
to the new morning light,
St. Nick led his team
in one hell of a fight.

He beat Oklahoma,
for he had no fear,
Because his Tigers played with the spirit,
Of so many years.




Geaux Tigers !

Military Night Before Christmas


'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the skies,
Air defenses were up, with electronic eyes.
Combat pilots were nestled in ready-room beds,
As enemy silhouettes danced in their heads.

Every jet on the apron, each SAM in its tube,
Was triply-redundant, linked to the Blue Cube,
And ELINT and AWACS gave coverage so dense
That nothing that flew could slip through our defense.

When out of the klaxon arose such a clatter
I dashed to the screen to see what was the matter;
I increased the gain and then, quick as a flash,
Fine-adjusted the filters to damp out the hash.

And there found the source of the warning we'd heeded:
An incoming blip, by eight escorts preceded.
"Alert status red!" went the word down the wire,
As we gave every system the codes that meant "FIRE!"

On Aegis! Up Patriot, Phalanx and Hawk!
And scramble our fighters--let's send the whole flock!
Launch decoys and missiles! Use chaff by the yard!
Get the kitchen sink up! Call the National Guard!

They turned toward the target, moved toward it, converged.
Till the tracks on the radar all finally merged,
And the sky was lit up with a demonic light,
As the foe met his fate in the high arctic night.

So we sent out some recon to look for debris,
Yet all that they found, both on land and on sea
Were some toys, a red hat, a charred left leather boot,
Broken sleigh bells, white hair, and a deer's parachute.

Now it isn't quite Christmas, with Saint Nick shot down.
There are unhappy kids in each village and town.
For the Spirit of Christmas can't hope to evade
All the web of defenses we've carefully made.

But a crash program's on:
Working hard, night and day,
All the elves are constructing
a radar-proof sleigh.

So let's wait for next Christmas,
in cheer and in health,
For the future has hope:
Santa's coming by stealth!

A Networkologist's Christmas


"'Tis the night before Christmas," I thought with a frown.
I was stuck at the office. The network was down.
The routers were hung in the closet. All crashed.
Their tables had holes in their data. All trashed.

Remote distribution, it seems, just for fun,
Had erased DLLs Windows needed to run
On 84 desktops way down in accounting.
I sat stunned at my desk, my blood pressure mounting.

When all of a sudden there arose such a clatter,
I saw that a server had something the matter.
There was smoke coming out of the main hard disk drive.
"No problem," I thought. "I'm set up with RAID 5."

But I found out the system I thought was unstoppable
Had disk drives that turned out completely unswappable!
"No problem," I thought. "I've tape backup to thank."
And then I discovered my backups were blank.

The UPS burped, and its lights all went out.
I started to scream! I started to shout!
But nobody heard as I vented my rage.
My gurus were all on vacation those days.

And nobody's tech support answered the phone.
I was nose deep in trouble, completely alone.
When out at reception, I heard a soft knock.
As the hands just touched midnight on my desktop clock.

"What's your problem?" he asked.
"Never mind, friend, I know.
I checked out your network five hours ago.
I did some proactive analysis, so

I knew that this time bomb was going to blow."
Who was this guy? Who did he think he was?
He was dressed in red coveralls, white beard, black gloves.
His eyes had the twinkle of technical genius.

His smile cut down personal distance between us.
He spread out his tools, and went straight to his work.
"Whoever configured this network's a jerk,"
He said with a -) as he quickly rebooted,

Uploaded some software, and smoothly rerouted
The LAN to a WAN that he quickly supplied
With bandwidth at least 20 gigabits wide
That went via wireless, I think, LEO,

To tech support elves waiting at the North Pole.
"Now bridging, now routing, now Ethernet hubs!"
He chanted as each piece of hardware he rubbed.
"Cheer up, my good friend! Lose that mindset so tragic!

Technology often looks just like some magic
To people who don't understand what we do.
Now a switch, emulation, now middleware glue!
Look at the protocols, check one or two,

Debug a bit, test a bit, presto! We're through!"
My data was back! Every system checked out!
Tears of joy wet my face as I wandered about.
"How can I thank you? You must be Saint Nick!"

He said, "Really, my friend, it's not such a great trick,
If you don't give up hope, focus on what you're doing,
And read all your issues of NETWORK COMPUTING."
And I heard him exclaim, as his reindeer were coursing,
"Merry Christmas to all! And consider outsourcing!"

The Night Before Christmas

A festive holiday poem by Hugh Drumm & Vincent Ambrose

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Net,
There were hacker's a surfing. Nerds? Yeah, you bet.
The e-mails were stacked by the modem with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

The newbies were nestled all snug by their screens,
While visions of Java danced in their dreams.
My wife on the sofa and me with a snack,
We just settled down at my rig (it's a Mac).

When out in the Web there arose such a clatter,
I jumped to the site to see what was the matter.
To a new page my Mac flew like a flash,
Then made a slight gurgle. It started to crash!!

I gasped at the thought and started to grouse,
Then turned my head sideways and clicked on my mouse.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
My Mac jumped to a page that wasn't quite clear.

When the image resolved, so bright and so quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick!
More rapid than mainframes, more graphics they came,
Then Nick glanced toward my screen, my Mac called them by name;

"Now Compaq! Now Acer!", my speaker did reel;
"On Apple! On Gateway!" Santa started to squeal!
"Jump onto the circuits! And into the chip!
Now speed it up! Speed it up! Make this thing hip!"

The screen gave a flicker, he was into my RAM,
Then into my room rose a full hologram!
He was dressed in all red, from his head to his shoes,
Which were black (the white socks he really should lose).

He pulled out some discs he had stored in his backpack.
Santa looked like a dude who was rarin' to hack!
His eyes, how they twinkled! His glasses, how techno!
This ain't the same Santa that I used to know!

With a wink of his eye and a nod of his head,
Santa soon let me know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, gave my Mac a quick poke,
And accessed my C drive with only a stroke.

He defragged my hard drive, and added a SIMM,
Then threw in some cool games, just on a whim!
He worked without noise, his fingers they flew!
He distorted some pictures with Kai's Power Goo!

He updated Office, Excel and Quicken,
Then added a screensaver with a red clucking chicken!
My eyes widened a bit, my mouth stood agape,
As he added the latest version of Netscape.

The drive gave a whirl, as if it were pleased,
St. Nick coyly smiled, the computer appeased.
Then placing his finger on the bridge of his nose,
Santa turned into nothing but ones and zeros!

He flew back into my screen and through my uplink,
Back into the net with barely a blink.
But I heard his sweet voice as he flew from my sight,
"Happy surfing to all, and to all a good byte!"

The Redneck Night Before Christmas


It was the night before Christmas, when all through the trailer park
Not a pop-top was poppin', not even Ole Blue barked.
Our stockin's was hung over the space heater with care,
In hopes Santy would fill 'em with Viennas and beer.

The kids was alseep in their NASCAR pj's,
Dreamin' of Goo Goo Clusters, Moon pies, and RC's.
And Earlene in her curlers and me in my John Deere cap
Had just settled into our La-Z-Boys for Wheel of Fourtune and a nap.

Then out in the vacent lot I heard such a commotion
I thought it was neighbor Clyde, finally got his T'bird in motion.
I heaved out of my recliner and to the window I flew,
Busted out the screen and hollered for Blue.

The moon was shinin' down on my old wrecked cars
So bright they was sparklin' like rusty old stars.
And I couldn't believe my own hardworking eyes
When a jacked up Ford pickup come flyin' through the sky!

Faster'n Ole Ironhead hs possums they came
And he whooped and hollered and called 'em by name
Git up Sooner! Hi Duke! Move yer tails Yaller and Spud!
On Blackie! On Queenie! You mind me Duchess and Bud!

To the top of the satellite dish! To the top of the shed!
Now move it! Step on it! Y'all get out the lead!
You know how, on our road, when a car goes by,
There's all this dirt flies up into the sky?

That's how this crew went staight on up to my roof
With that pickup full of toys, a real nice gun rack, and Redneck Santa too.
Then 'fore I could pop my teeth in I heard up on the tin
The scrabbling around of them Flying possums of his'n.

I yanked my head back in the trailer and hitched up my shorts...
Down the dryer vent Redneck Santa came with a grunt and a snort!
He was dressed in red-and-green camo from his neck to his feet
And I had to give him credit he still had most his teeth.

Looked like stuff from Earlene's yard sale slung on his back-
There was flyswatters an' Tupperware an' 8-tracks stickin' out of his pack.
His eye took in our humble home
The furniture we bought on layaway in town...

Earline's pride, that Elvis on velvet...
My collections of barbed wire... and license plates made by relatives.
I coulda' swore I even saw a glistening tear
When his eye fell on sweet Earlene, a snorin'in her chair.

He kindly favored Hank, Jr., with a big round belly
That shook when he laughed like a blob of K-Y jelly.
Yep, he was fat all right, blocked out our whole Large screen TV,
And I had to laugh when I saw him, 'cause he looked just like me!

When he winked his eye I knew fer sure he'd treat us right-
Why, he might even leave me some ammo tonight!
I stood there dreamin' of whitetail while I watched him work,
Then he stopped and, like a real man, let out a fart and a burp.

He topped off our stockin's with Moon Pies and bottle rockets,
Then squoze up that dryer vent like spam in your pocket.
He jumped in his pickup, laid down on the horn...I'm not lying'!
And they took off like white lightnin' with their possum tails flyin'.

But I heard him holler as headed for the 7-11....
"MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL,
AND MAY ALL REDNECKS GO TO HEAVEN!"

Another Redneck Night Before Christmas



'Twas the night before Christmas And all through the trailer

Not a creature was stirrin' 'Cept a redneck named Taylor.

His first name was Bubba, Joe was his middle,

And a-runnin' down his chin was a trickle of spittle.

His socks, they were hung by the chimney with care,

And therefore there was a foul stench in the air.

That Bubba got scared and rousted the boys.

There was Rufus, 12; Jim Bob was 11;

Dud goin' on 10; Otis was 7.

John, George and Chucky Were 5,4, and 3:

The twins were both girls So they let them be.

They jumped in their overalls, No need for a shirt,

Threw a hat on each head, Then turned with a jerk.

They ran to the gun rack That hung on the wall.

There were 17 shotguns; They grabbed them all.

Bubba said to the young'uns, "Now hesh up ya'll!

The last thing we wanna do Is wake up yer Maw."

Maw was expecting And needed her sleep,

So out they crept out the door Without making a peep.

They all looked around, and then they all spit.

The young'uns asked Bubba, "Paw, what is it?"

Bubba just stared; He could not say a word.

This was just like all of The stories he'd heard.

It was Santy Claus on the roof, Darn tootin'

But the boys didn't know; They was about to start shootin'!

They aimed their shotguns and nearly made a mistake

That would have resulted in venison steak.

Bubba hollered out, "Don't shoot, boys!"

That's Santy Claus And he's brought us some toys.

The dogs were a-barkin' And a-raisin' cain,

And Bubba whistled, and shouted, And called them by name.

"Down, Spot! Shut up Bullet! Quiet, Pete and Roscoe!

Git, Turnip and Tater and Sam and Bosco!"

"Git down from that porch! Git down off that wall!

Quit shakin the trailer, Or you'll make Santy fall!"

The dogs kept a-barkin' And wouldn't shut up,

And they trampled poor Pete Who was only a pup.

Santy opened his bag, And threw out some toys.

Bubba got most, But left a few for the boys.

Since the guns had been dropped He just might not die.

He jumped in his sleigh, Told his reindeer to hurry.

The trailer started to wobble Santa started to worry.

Just as the reindeer Got into the air,

The trailer collapsed, But Bubba didn't care.

He was busy lookin' At all his new toys.

Then a thought hit him, And he said to the boys:

"Go check on yer Maw, Make sure she's all right.

That roof fallin' on her Could-a hurt just a might."

But Maw was OK, And the girls were too.

They fixed up the trailer; It looked good as new.

And as for Bubba, He liked Old St. Nick,

But Santa thought Bubba Was a pure-in-tee hick!

Bubba had a nice Christmas, And the boys did, too.

And the Taylors wish A Merry Christmas to you!

Return Of The Grinch
by James Ricci (with apologies to Dr. Seuss)]


Way up in his cave north of Who-ville, the Grinch
Was enjoying retirement; life was a cinch.
He played on his PC and tweaked other hacks
And talked of old times with his aged dog, Max.

He rarely went down to the town of the Whos,
Save to stock up on roast beast and Who-hash and booze.
He preferred not to rub on the slow-healing sore
Of his near-theft of Christmas two decades before.

Well, one day as Grinch sat keyboarding on-line,
Some E-mail arrived of intriguing design:
"Please, Mr. Grinch, let me come visit you."
The message was signed by one "Cindy-Lou Who."

"Cindy-Lou Who," though the Grinch, "Cindy-Lou Who,
"Now, who is this Who name of Cindy-Lou Who?"
He scratched his head hard till his memory expanded -
Ah, she'd been the tot who had caught him red-handed.

All those long years ago when, with devilish glee,
He'd been making away with her folks' Christmas tree!
So Grinch swept his cave of its Grinchy debris,
And combed out his fur to receive company.

This Cindy-Lou Who, who was now twenty-two,
A graduate student at East Who-ville U.,
Her voice was no longer the coo of a dove,
But firm and commanding, as if from Above.

She wasted few words in unveiling her plan:
She wanted the Grinch to steal Christmas - again!
"Since your last theft attempt, time has taken its toll;
"Now Who-ville's Christmas deserves to be stole,"
said Cindy-Lou in a most righteous tone
(Grinch captivated by how much she'd grown!).

"Back then when you took all the presents away,
"We Whos nonetheless celebrated the day.
"But now no one holds hands, and nobody sings.
"All we Whos care for is getting more things.

"The radio broadcasts Yule songs in July,
"To pump up the Whos to get out there and buy,
"Lest Christmas morn, when they rise from their sleep,
"The gifts 'neath the tree aren't eleven feet deep.

"The whole, long ordeal leaves most every-Who stressed,
"Exhausted, debt-ridden and deeply depressed.
"Oh, we must stop this madness, we must, must, must, must!
"Before the day's meaning has turned all to dust."

Said Grinch, "Heaven's sakes, Missy, why come to me?
"I can't steal Christmas - I'm seventy-three."
Said she, "Oh, I know that you'll think of a plan;
"You did it before, you can do it again."

Then she gave to old Grinch, to ensure his enthralled-ness,
A daughterly kiss on his male-pattern baldness,
Making him blush underneath all his fur
And vow to himself, "I will do it - for her."

So Grinchy dug out the old Santy Claus suit
That, in the first heist, was his best attribute.
Then he called his dog, Max, and took some red thread,
And tied a big horn on the doggy's old head.

He hitched up the pooch to a ramshackle sleigh,
Which he filled up with sacks for to haul loot away.
Then he waited for darkness to fall on the town,
And told Max, "Giddap," and began the trip down.

On the south edge of Who-ville, a newly built part,
He came to a stop at the giant Who-Mart.
Grinchily sly, he slunk in a side door
And filled up a sack with goods from Aisle 4.

But he saw as he picked through the toys and CDs,
No bag in the world could contain all of these.
All Christmas was stealable two decades before;
Today you could not make a dent in one store!

Just then he heard footsteps and looked up to see
Security guards coming 'round from Aisle 3.
He tugged on the sack, but he just couldn't budge it;
And time was a-wasting, as Grinchy adjudged it.

So he ran from the store, oh, he ran, ran, ran, ran,
Ran faster than ever in his whole life span.
Flogging poor Max like some poor galley slave,
He barely escaped to his hideaway cave.

Looking down on the town, the Grinch pondered his fix:
"Surely there's more in my old bag of tricks."
On what thing, he wondered, did Christmas depend,
The supply of which he, Grinch, might act to suspend?

"Why, batteries, of course!" he told Max (who just looked).
"Without them, this Christmas' goose will be cooked!"
So, with squirt gun and mask, he headed off straight
With Max and the sleigh to the new Interstate.

"When the truck full of batteries comes down the road,"
The Grinch-jacker chortled, "We'll hijack its load!"
Max, for his part, felt unsure and afraid
To be used, at his age, as a street barricade.

At last came the semi, and Grinchy yelled, "Stop!"
And brandished his squirt gun like some kind of cop.
But the truck just roared on, and it knocked the Grinch flat
And crunched through the sleigh - and, well, that was that.

Lucky for Grinch, he'd just joined HMO -
The truck broke his hinch bone and linch bone and toe.
"I can still use my hands," Grinch told Max (who just snored),
And sat himself down at his PC keyboard.

"I'll make a computer bug cripple and maim
"Every Who-ville computer and video game.
"All Christmas purists will surely admire us
"When they see the effects of our cyberspace virus."

Grinch started to program, oh, he hacked, hacked, hacked,
And soon had a virus all set too attack.
He was poised to press ENTER and set off the plague
When he heard a loud knock on the door of his cave.

"Police! Open up!" came the shout from outside
The hair stood at attention on Grinchy's scared hide
The cops bashed the door down, the impatient toughs;
They read Grinch his rights, and then slapped on the cuffs.

Through Grinch-prints they'd traced him and made the charge stand:
Attempted hijacking and larceny, grand.
Another fact made Grinch's plight still more tender -
He might go to trial as a repeat offender.

And so Grinchy landed in Who-ville's Who's-gow
Along with poor Max, his reluctant bow-bow.
They cowered in corners and tried to steer clear
Of guys with tattoos and lascivious leers.

Then one day a visitor came to see Grinch;
His suit looked hand-tailored, each exquisite inch.
Reading his business card, jailbird Grinch saw:
"Robert Shapir-who, Attorney-at-Law."

"I'm taking your case," said the lawyer, "and, too,
"My fees will be paid by Ms. Cindy-Lou Who.
"I'll make you a hero, role model, the works.
"They'll never convict you, the slow-witted jerks."

Shapir-Who sent Grinch super-agent Mike Who-vitz,
Who soon orchestrated a media-zoo blitz.
Newspapers headlined, "Grinch motives were pure."
Talk-show hosts called his confinement "manure."

A hurry-up movie was made of his plight.
He spoke, live, with Who-prah via satellite.
Everyone talked of his brave, lonely quest
To bring Christmas back to an era more blessed.

His fame soon surpassed more illustrious names,
And led to Grinch dolls, bikes and video games,
Which all hit the shelves just in time for Yule sales,
And made for store profits of unheard-of scales.

"Grinch," said Shapir-who, "with this latest deal,
You're sure to be bigger than Shaquille Who'Neal."
Bigger than Shaq? That thought took Grinch aback!
But he did have endorsements too many to track.

At his trial, crowds applauded when Grinchy stepped forth,
Looking nobly self-righteous as Who-liver North.
His lawyer orated, oh, he talked, talked, talked, talked -
And the jury acquitted the Grinch, in a walk.

After, a limousine whisked Grinchy home -
Not too a cave, but a new pleasure-dome
With thirty-four rooms and a house staff of three,
Who toasted with bubbly his being set free.

Next morning, while Grinch lounged in opulent glitz,
Discussing residuals with agent Who-vitz,
The butler announced with pretentious ado,
"A certain Ms. Who has arrived to see you."

Grinch put down his cell-phone and tightened his tie,
And straightened the brow over each Grinchy eye.
But Cindy-Lou scoffed at his mansion and loot,
And, smirking, derided his Who-mani suit.

"I was foolish," she spat, "thinking you'd lift the curse.
"You didn't save Christmas, you just made things worse."
Said Grinch, in a half-hearted, mumbly way:
"I tried to do right - it just happened to pay."

But his high spirits fell, oh they fell, fell, fell, fell,
They could not have fallen more if they'd fell in a well.
And suddenly Grinchy knew what he must do
To regain the esteem of Ms. Cindy-Lou Who.

Straight off he called up his financial advisor,
Knowing his wishes were sure to surprise her,
And he emptied his savings and 401Ks,
Got rid of his stocks and his fat IRAs.

He sold off the mansion and world-class wine cellar,
Sold the cigar boat with corkscrew propeller.
Grinch rented the Who-Dome and gave dinner, free,
To twenty-eight thousand, eight hundred and three.

And not only Whos but all Whats, Whys and Hows
>From neighboring villages, cities and towns.
Homeless and friendless, the rich and the poor -
No living creature was turned from the door.

The menu was Who-hash and prime-rib roast beast,
And plum cakes and loaves of bread baked with Who-yeast.
But before the feast started, all present joined hands
And sang Christmas songs played by two dozen bands.

And all, intermingling, wished all others well,
And couldn't remember so fine a Noel.
Impressed, Cindy-Lou gave the Grinch a great hug
And planted a smooch on his Grinchy old mug.

"You failed to steal Christmas," she whispered, "and yet
"You've set an example we'll never forget."
And afterward, Grinchy went home to his cave,
Quite pleased with himself and the Christmas he gave.

He felt that his heart, once two sizes too small,
Could now scarcely fit inside Carnegie Hall.
"It just goes to show," he said, nodding his head,
"You get more from giving than getting ahead.

"You're richer admired than rich-and-reviled."
He patted the head of old Max (who just smiled).

Chatting On The Night Before Christmas


Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house.
Not a creature was stirring, except for my mouse.
No kids lived with me, so I thought I would chatter.
There'd be no damn reindeer, and so stupid clatter.

There'd be no fat elf coming through my chimney.
I'll be alone, my computer and me.
I won't race to the window to see him arrive.
I'll just sit right here...with windows ninety-five.

There's no one I know, as I'm surfing around.
None of my regular buddies are found.
I went in some chat rooms but quickly got out.
Age, sex, location is all that's about.

As I was about to go check out the net.
I got an E-mail which I didn't expect.
A lady told me she had read my profile.
And, asked if I might like to chat for a while.

She said if I didn't, then she would just leave.
But she was so lonely, on this Christmas Eve.
She said it's the first time, she'd ever been on.
But, she heard, computers could be so much fun.

She said the computer was usually locked tight.
But, she said, her husband left it on tonight.
He's away on some business, He'll be gone all night.
So, she thought she'd use it, I guess it's all right.

She started to tell me about her whole life.
How she was expected to be a good wife.
She talked of her anger, frustrations, and needs.
Because she was forced to do such silly deeds.

She talked on and on, from one thing to the next.
Then finally told me.....she was oversexed.
She didn't have sex with her husband, she told.
He was always too busy and getting too old.

Then she wrote me something that made my heart vex.
She asked me to teach her to have cyber-sex.
I said, if she wanted me to, that I could.
Then after an hour, she got really good.

After five hours, my fingers were sore.
I told her that I couldn't continue anymore.
She said that was fine, because she was tired too.
And anyway her husband, soon would be due.

She said she would be on, the same time next year.
Then asked if I wouldn't mind, meeting her here.
She said only on this night, she could be found
It is only this night, her husband leaves town.

She said bye and signed off...and I had to pause.
I think I just cybered with Mrs. Santa Claus!

[b]'Twas The Night Before Christmas, 2001


'Twas The Night Before Christmas,
He Lived All Alone,
In A One Bedroom House Made Of
Plaster And Stone.

I Had Come Down The Chimney
With Presents To Give,
And To See Just Who
In This Home Did Live.

I Looked All About,
A Strange Sight I Did See,
No Tinsel, No Presents,
Not Even A Tree.

No Stocking By Mantle,
Just Boots Filled With Sand,
And On The Wall Pictures
Of Far Distant Lands.

ith Medals And Badges,
Awards Of All Kinds,
A Sobering Thought
Came To My Mind.

For This House Was Different,
So Dark And So Dreary,
The Home Of A Warrior,
Now I Could See Clearly.

The Warrior Lay Sleeping,
Silent, Alone,
Curled Up On The Floor
In This One Bedroom Home.

The Face Was So Gentle,
The Room In Such Disorder,
Not How I Pictured
A United States warrior.

Was This The Hero
Of Whom I'd Just Read?
Curled Up On A Poncho,
The Floor For A Bed?

I Realized The Families
That I Saw This Night,
Owed Their Lives To These Warriors
Who Were Willing To Fight.

Soon Round The World,
The Children Would Play,
And Grownups Would Celebrate
A Bright Christmas Day.

They All Enjoyed Freedom
Each Month Of The Year,
Because Of The Warriors,
Like The One Lying Here.

I Couldn't Help Wonder
How Many Lay Alone,
On A Cold Christmas Eve
In A Land Far From Home.

The Very Thought
Brought A Tear To My Eye,
I Dropped To My Knees
And Started To Cry.

The Warrior Awakened
And I Heard A Rough Voice,
"Santa Don't Cry,
This Life Is My Choice;

I Fight For Freedom,
I Don't Ask For More,
My Life Is My God,
My Country, My Corps."

The Warrior Rolled Over
And Soon Drifted To Sleep,
I Couldn't Control It,
I Continued To Weep.

I Kept Watch For Hours,
So Silent And Still,
And We Both Shivered
From The Cold Evening's Chill.

I Didn't Want To Leave
On That Cold, Dark, Night,
This Guardian Of Honor
So Willing To Fight.

Then The Warrior Rolled Over,
With A Voice Soft And Pure,
Whispered, "Carry On Santa,
It's Christmas Day, All Is Secure."

One Look At My Watch,
And I Knew He Was Right.
"Merry Christmas My Friend,
And To All A Good Night."