Twas The Night Before Xmas

[Sharni]

Soldier's Version

'Twas the night before Christmas, and 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 what manner of person in this home did live.

I looked all about, a strange sight did I see;
no tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
No stocking by the mantle, just boots filled with sand,
And on the wall hung many pictures of far distant lands.

With medals and badges, and awards of all kinds,
Suddenly a thought so sobering came into my mind.
For this house was much different, it was so dark and dreary,
I was in the house of an Airman, once I could see clearly.

The Airman lay sleeping, silent, all alone;
Curled upon the floor in this one bedroom home.
The face was so gentle, the room in such disorder,
Not exactly how I imagined I'd find an airman soldier.

Was this the hero of whom I'd just read?
Curled up on a poncho, the floor for a bed?
I then realized the families I saw on this night,
Owed their lives to these airmen who were willing to fight.

For soon 'round the world the children would play,
And grownups would celebrate a bright Christmas day.
They all enjoyed their freedom each month of the year,
Because of the airmen, like the one lying here.

I couldn't help wonder how many more lay alone,
On a cold Christmas Eve, in some land far from home.
The very thought brought a tear to my eye,
And I dropped to my knees and started to cry.

The Airman awakened and I heard a rough voice,
"Santa, don't cry, this life is my choice;
I fight for our freedom, I don't ask for more,
My life is my God, my country, my Air Force."

The Airman rolled over and drifted back to sleep,
But I couldn't control it, I started to weep.
I kept watch for hours, so silent and still
Until we both shivered hard from the cold night's chill.

I didn't want to leave on that cold, dark night
This Guardian of Honor so willing to fight.
Then the Airman rolled over, and with a voice soft and pure,
Whispered, "Carry on, Santa, it's Christmas Day and all is secure."

One look at my watch and I knew he was right
Merry Christmas, my friend, and to all a Good Night!

[Sharni]

Mum's Version

T'was the night before Christmas, when all thru the abode
Only one creature was stirring, and she was cleaning the commode.
The children were finally sleeping, all snug in their beds,
While visions of Nintendo 64 and Barbie, flipped through their heads.

The dad was snoring in front of the TV,
With a half-constructed bicycle on his knee.
So only the mom heard the reindeer hooves clatter,
Which made her sigh, "Now what's the matter?"

With toilet bowl brush still clutched in her hand,
She descended the stairs, and saw the old man.
He was covered with ashes and soot, which fell with a shrug.
"Oh great," muttered the mom, "Now I have to clean the rug."

"Ho-ho-ho!" cried Santa, "I'm glad you're awake."
"Your gift was especially difficult to make."
"Thanks, Santa, but all I want is some time alone."
"Exactly!" he chuckled, "I've made you a clone."

"A clone?" she asked, "What good is that?
Run along, Santa, I've no time for chit-chat."
And there she stood. The mother's twin.
Same hair, same eyes, same double chin.

"She'll cook, she'll dust, she'll mop every mess.
You'll relax, take it easy, watch The Young & the Restless."
"Fantastic!" the mom cheered. "My dream come true!
I'll shop. I'll read. I'll sleep a whole night through!"

From the room above, the youngest began to fret.
"Mommy?! I scared... and I 'm wet."
The clone replied, "I'm coming, sweetheart."
"Hey," the mom smiled, "She knows her part."

The clone changed the small one, and hummed a tune,
As she bundled the child, in a blanket cocoon.
"You the best mommy ever. I really love you."
The clone smiled and sighed, "I love you, too."

The mom frowned and said, "Sorry, Santa, no deal."
That's my child's love, she's trying to steal."
Smiling wisely Santa said, "To me it is clear,
Only one loving mother, is needed here."

The mom kissed her child, and tucked her into bed.
"Thank you, Santa, for clearing my head.
I sometimes forget, it won't be very long,
When they'll be too old, for my cradle-song."

The clock on the mantle began to chime.
Santa whispered to the clone, "It works every time."
With the clone by his side Santa said, "Goodnight.
Merry Christmas, Mom, You'll be all right."

[Sharni]

Hacker's Version

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the nets
Not a mousie was stirring, not even the pets.
The floppies were stacked by the modem with care
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

The files were nestled all snug in a folder
The screen saver turned on, the weather was colder.
And leaving the keyboard along with my mouse,
I turned from the screen to the rest of the house.

When up from the drive there arose such a clatter
I turned to the screen to see what was the matter.
Away to the mouse I flew like a flash,
Zoomed open a window in fear of a crash ...

The glow from the screen on the keyboard below,
Gave an electronic luster to all my macros.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a little sleigh icon with eight tiny reindeer.

And a tiny disk driver so SCSI and quick,
I knew in a nano it must be Saint Nick.
More rapid than trackballs his cursors they came,
He whistled and shouted and faxed them by name.

"Now Flasher! Now Dasher! Now Raster and Bixel!
On Phosphor! On Photon! On Baudrate and Pixel!
To the top of the stack. To the top of the heap."
Then each little reindeer made a soft beep.

As data that before the wild electrons fly,
When they meet with a node, mount to the drive,
So up to the screentop the cursors they flew.
With a sleigh full of disks and databits, too.

And then in a twinkling I heard the high whine,
Of a modem connecting at a baud rate so fine.
As I gazed at the screen with a puzzling frown,
St. Nicholas logged on though I thought I was down.

He was dressed all in bytes from header to footer,
And the words on the screen said "Don't you reboot 'er."
A bundle of bits he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a programmer starting his hack.

His eyes how they glazed, his hair was so scary,
His cola was jolt, not flavored with cherry.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a GIF,
And the pixels of his beard sure gave me a lift.

The stump of a routine he held tight in his code,
And I knew he had made it past the last node.
He spoke not a word but looked right at me,
And I saw in a flash his file was ..SEA.

He self-decompressed and I watched him unfold,
Into a jolly old elf, a sight to behold.
And the whispering sound of my hard drive's head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He went straight to his work without saying a word,
And filled all the folders of this happy nerd.
And 'tis the whole truth, as the story is told,
That giving a nod up the window he scrolled.

He sprang to the serial port as if truly on fire,
And away they all flew down the thin copper wire.
But I heard him exclaim as he scrolled out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to All, and to all a good night."

[Sharni]

Dieter's Version

Twas the night before Christmas and all around my hips
Were Fanny May candies that sneaked past my lips.
Fudge brownies were stored in the freezer with care
In hopes that my thighs would forget they were there.

While Mama in her girdle and I in chin straps
Had just settled down to sugar-borne naps.
When out in the pantry there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter

Away to the kitchen I flew like a flash
Tore open the icebox then threw up the sash
The marshmallow look of the new-fallen snow
Sent thoughts of a binge to my body below.

When what to my wandering eyes should appear:
A marzipan santa with eight chocolate reindeer!
That huge chunk of candy so luscious and slick
I knew in a second that I'd wind up sick.

The sweet-coated santa, those sugared reindeer
I closed my eyes tightly but still I could hear;
On Pritzker, on Stillman, on weak one, on TOPS
a Weight Watcher dropout form sugar detox.

From the top of the scales to the top of the hall
Now dash away pounds now dash away all.
Dressed up in Lane Bryant from my head to nightdress
My clothes were all bulging from too much excess.

My droll little mouth and my round little belly
They shook when I laughed like a bowl full of jelly
I spoke not a word but went straight to my work
Ate all of the candy then turned with a jerk.

And laying a finger beside my heartburn
I gave a quick nod and toward the bedroom I turned
I eased into bed, to the heavens I cry
If temptation's removed I'll get thin by and by.

And I mumbled again as I turned in for the night
In the morning I'll starve ... 'till I take that first bite

[Sharni]

Politically Correct Version

Twas the night before Christmas and Santa's a wreck
How to live in a world that's politically correct ?
His workers no longer would answer to Elves,
Vertically challenged they were calling themselves.

And labor conditions at the North Pole
Were alleged by the union to stifle the soul.
Four reindeer had vanished, without much propriety,
Released to the wilds by the Humane Society.

And Equal Employment had made it quite clear
That Santa had better not use just reindeer.
So Dancer and Donner, Comet and Cupid
Were Replaced with four pigs, and you know that looked stupid !

The runners had been removed from his sleigh,
The ruts were termed dangerous by the EPA.
And people started to call for the cops
When they heard sled noises on their rooftops.

Second-hand smoke from his pipe had his workers quite frightened.
His fur-trimmed red suit was called Unenlightened.
And to show you the strangeness of life's ebbs and flows,
Rudolf was suing over unauthorized use of his nose

And had gone on Geraldo, in front of the nation,
Demanding millions in overdue compensation.
So, half of the reindeer were gone; and his wife,
Who suddenly said she'd enough of this life,

Joined a self-help group, packed and left in a whiz,
Demanding from now on her title was Ms.
And as for the gifts, why, he'd ne'er a notion
That making a choice could cause so much commotion.

Nothing of leather, nothing of fur,
Which meant nothing for him. And nothing for her.
Nothing that might be construed to pollute.
Nothing to aim. Nothing to shoot.

Nothing that clamored or made lots of noise.
Nothing for just girls. Or just for the boys.
Nothing that claimed to be gender specific.
Nothing that's warlike or non-pacific.

And fairy tales, while not yet forbidden,
Were like Ken and Barbie, better off hidden.
For they raised the hackles of those psychological
Who claimed the only good gift was one ecological.

No baseball, no football, someone could get hurt;
Besides, playing sports exposed kids to dirt.
Dolls were said to be sexist and should be passe;
And Nintendo would rot your entire brain away.

So Santa just stood there, disheveled, perplexed;
He just could not figure out what to do next.
He tried to be merry, tried to be gay,
But you've got to be careful with that word today.

His sack was quite empty, limp to the ground;
Nothing fully acceptable was to be found.
Something special was needed, a gift that he might
Give to all without angering the left or the right.

A gift that would satisfy, with no indecision,
Each group of people, every religion;
Every ethnicity, every hue,
Everyone, everywhere, even you.

So here is that gift, it's price beyond worth.
May you and your loved ones enjoy peace on earth

[Sharni]

Parent's Version

Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house
I searched for the tools to hand to my spouse
Instructions were studied and we were inspired,
In hopes we could manage "Some Assembly Required."

The children were quiet (not asleep) in their beds,
While Dad and I faced the evening with dread:
A kitchen, two bikes, Barbie's town house to boot!
And, thanks to Grandpa, a train with a toot!

We opened the boxes, my heart skipped a beat ...
Let no parts be missing or parts incomplete!
Too late for last-minute returns or replacement;
If we can't get it right, it goes in the basement!

When what to my worrying eyes should appear
But 50 sheets of directions, concise, but not clear,
With each part numbered and every slot named,
So if we failed, only we could be blamed.

More rapid than eagles the parts then fell out,
All over the carpet they were scattered about.
"Now bolt it! Now twist it! Attach it right there!
Slide on the seats, and staple the stair!

Hammer the shelves, and nail to the stand."
"Honey," said hubby, "you just glued my hand."
And then in a twinkling, I knew for a fact
That all the toy dealers had indeed made a pact ...

To keep parents busy all Christmas Eve night
With "assembly required" till morning's first light.
We spoke not a word, but kept bent at our work,
Till our eyes, they went bleary; our fingers all hurt.

The coffee went cold and the night, it wore thin
Before we attached the last rod and last pin.
Then laying the tools away in the chest,
We fell into bed for a well-deserved rest.

But I said to my husband just before I passed out,
"This will be the best Christmas, without any doubt.
Tomorrow we'll cheer, let the holiday ring,
And not have to run to the store for a thing!

We did it! We did it! The toys are all set
For the perfect, most perfect, Christmas, I bet!"
Then off to dreamland and sweet repose
I gratefully went, though I suppose ...

There's something to say for those self-deluded,
I'd forgotten that BATTERIES are never included!

[Sharni]

Trekkie's Version

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the ship
Not a circuit was buzzing, not one microchip;
The phasers were hung in the armoury securely,
In hope that no alien would get up that early.

The crewmen were nestled all snug in their bunks
(Except for the few who were partying drunks);
And Picard in his nightshirt, and Bev in her lace,
Had just settled down for a neat face to face ...

When out in the hall there arose such a racket,
That we leapt from our beds, pulling on pant and jacket.
Away to the lifts we all shot like a gun,
Leapt into the cars and yelled loudly "Deck One!"

The bridge red-alert lights, which flashed through the din,
Gave a lustre of Hades to objects within.
When, what on the viewscreen, our eyes should behold,
But a weird kind of sleigh, and some guy who looked old.

But the glint in his eyes was so strange and askew,
That we knew in a moment it had to be Q.
His sleigh grew much larger as closer he came.
Then he zapped on the bridge and addressed us by name:

"It's Riker, It's Data, It's Worf and Jean-Luc!
It's Geordi, And Wesley, the genetic fluke!
To the top of the bridge, to the top of the hall!
Now float away! Float away! Float away all!"

As leaves in the autumn are whisked off the street,
So the floor of the bridge came away from our feet,
And up to the ceiling, our bodies they flew,
As the captain called out, "What the Hell is this, Q?!"

The prankster just laughed and expanded his grin,
And, snapping his fingers, he vanished again.
As we took in our plight, and were looking around,
The spell was removed, and we crashed to the ground.

Then Q, dressed in fur from his head to his toe,
Appeared once again, to continue the show.
"That's enough!" cried the captain, "You'll stop this at once!"
And Riker said, "Worf, take aim at this dunce!"

"I'm deeply offended, Jean-Luc" replied Q,
"I just wanted to celebrate Christmas with you."
As we scoffed at his words, he produced a large sack.
He dumped out the contents and took a step back.

"I've brought gifts," he said, "just to show I'm sincere.
There's something delightful for everyone here."
He sat on the floor, and dug into his pile,
And handed out gifts with his most charming smile:

"For Counsellor Troi, there's no need to explain.
Here's Tylenol-Beta for all of your pain.
For Worf I've some mints, as his breath's not too great,
And for Geordi LaForge, an inflatable date."

For Wesley, some hormones, and Clearasil-plus;
For Data, a joke book, For Riker a truss.
For Beverly Crusher, there's sleek lingerie,
And for Jean-Luc, the thrill of just seeing her that way."

And he sprang to his feet with that grin on his face
And, clapping his hands, disappeared into space.
But we heard him exclaim as he dwindled from sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good flight!"

[Sharni]

Net Junkie's Version

'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!"

[Sharni]

Mary Christmas (aka MUM)'s Version

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the kitchen;
I was cooking and baking and moanin and bitchin.
I've been here for hours, I cant stop to rest.
This rooms a disaster, just look at this mess !

Tommorow I've got thirty people to feed.
They expect all the trimmings. Who cares what I need !
My feet are both blistered, I've got cramps in my legs.
The cat just knocked over a bowl full of eggs.

Theres a knock at the door and the telephones ringing;
Frosting drips on the counter as the microwaves dinging.
Two pies in the oven, desserts almost done;
My cookbook is soiled with butter and crumbs.

I've had alI I can stand, I cant take anymore;
Then in walks my husband, spilling rum on the floor.
He weaves and he wobbles, his balance unsteady;
Then grins as he chuckles "The eggnog is ready !"

He looks all around and with total regret,
Says "Whats taking so long....arent you through in here yet ??"
As quick as a flash I reach for a knife;
He loses an earlobe; I wanted his life !

He flees from the room in terror and pain
And screams "MY GOD WOMAN, YOU'RE GOING INSANE !!"
Now what was I doing, and what is that smell ?
Oh shoot it's the pies !! They're burned all to hell !!

I hate to admit when I make a mistake,
But I put them on BROIL instead of on BAKE.
What else can go wrong ?? Is there still more ahead ??
If this is good living, I'd rather be dead.

Lord, dont get me wrong, I love holidays;
It just leaves me exhausted, all shakey and dazed.
But I promise you one thing, If I live till next year,
You wont find me pulling my hair out in here.

I'll hire a maid, a cook, and a waiter;
And if that doesnt work, I'LL HAVE IT ALL CATERED !!!

[Sharni]

Microsoft's Version

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, except Papa's mouse.
The computer was humming, the icons were hopping,
As Papa did last-minute Internet shopping.

The stockings were hung by the modem with care,
In hope that St. Nicholas would bring new software.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of computer games danced in their heads.

PageMaker for Billy, and Quicken for Dan,
And Carmen Sandiego for Pamela Ann.
The letters to Santa had been sent out by Mom,
To [email protected] -
Which has now been re-routed to Washington State
Because Santa's workshop has been bought by Bill Gates.

All the elves and reindeer have had to skedaddle,
To flashy new quarters in suburban Seattle.
After centuries of a life that was simple and spare,
St. Nicholas is suddenly a new billionaire,

With a shiny red Porsche in the place of his sleigh,
And a house on Lake Washington that's just down the way
From where Bill has his mansion.
The old fellow preens
In black Gucci boots and red Calvin Klein jeans.

The elves have stock options and desks with a view,
Where they write computer code for Johnny and Sue.
No more dolls or toy soldiers or little toy drums (ahem - pardon me)
No more dolls or tin soldiers or little toy drums
Will be under the tree, only compact disk ROMS.

With the Microsoft label. So spin up your drive,
From now on Christmas runs only on Win95.
More rapid than eagles the competitors came,
And Bill whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.
"Now, ADOBE! now, CLARIS! now, INTUIT! too,
Now, APPLE! and NETSCAPE! you are all of you through.

It is Microsoft's SANTA that the kids can't resist,
It's the ultimate software with a traditional twist -
Recommended by no less than the jolly old elf,
And on the package, a picture of Santa himself.

Get 'em young, keep 'em long, is Microsoft's scheme,
And a merger with Santa is a marketer's dream.
To the top of the NASDAQ! to the top of the Dow!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away - wow!"

And Mama in her 'kerchief and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
The whir and the hum of our satellite platter,
As it turned toward that new Christmas star in the sky,
The SANTALITE owned by the Microsoft guy.

As I sprang from my bed and was turning around,
My computer turned on with a Jingle-Bells sound.
And there on the screen was a smiling Bill Gates
Next to jolly old Santa, two arm-in-arm mates.

And I heard them exclaim in voice so bright,
Have a MICROSOFT CHRISTMAS, and TO ALL A GOODNIGHT!


[/QUOTE]

[Sharni]

Technical Writer's Version

'Twas the nocturnal segment of the diurnal period preceding the annual Yuletide celebration, and throughout our place of residence, kinetic activity was not in evidence among the possessors of this potential, including that species of domestic rodent known as Mus musculus.

Hosiery was meticulously suspended from the forward edge of the wood burning caloric apparatus, pursuant to our anticipatory pleasure regarding an imminent visitation from an eccentric philanthropist among whose folkloric appellations is the honorific title of St. Nicholas.

The prepubescent siblings, comfortably ensconced in their respective accommodations of repose, were experiencing subconscious visual hallucinations of variegated fruit confections moving rhythmically through their cerebrums.

My conjugal partner and I, attired in our nocturnal head coverings, were about to take slumberous advantage of the hibernal darkness when upon the avenaceous exterior portion of the grounds there ascended such a cacophony of dissonance that I felt compelled to arise with alacrity from my place of repose for the purpose of ascertaining the precise source thereof.

Hastening to the casement, I forthwith opened the barriers sealing this fenestration, noting thereupon that the lunar brilliance without, reflected as it was on the surface of a recent crystalline precipitation, might be said to rival that of the solar meridian itself - thus permitting my incredulous optical sensory organs to behold a miniature airborne runnered conveyance drawn by eight diminutive specimens of the genus Rangifer, piloted by a minuscule, aged chauffeur so ebullient and nimble that it became instantly apparent to me that he was indeed our anticipated caller. With his ungulate motive power travelling at what may possibly have been more vertiginous velocity than patriotic alar predators, he vociferated loudly, expelled breath musically through contracted labia, and addressed each of the octet by his or her respective cognomen - "Now Dasher, now Dancer..." et al. - guiding them to the uppermost exterior level of our abode, through which structure I could readily distinguish the concatenations of each of the 32 cloven pedal extremities.

As I retracted my cranium from its erstwhile location, and was performing a 180-degree pivot, our distinguished visitant achieved - with utmost celerity and via a downward leap - entry by way of the smoke passage. He was clad entirely in animal pelts soiled by the ebony residue from oxidations of carboniferous fuels which had accumulated on the walls thereof. His resemblance to a street vendor I attributed largely to the plethora of assorted playthings which he bore dorsally in a commodious cloth receptacle.

His orbs were scintillant with reflected luminosity, while his submaxillary dermal indentations gave every evidence of engaging amiability. The capillaries of his malar regions and nasal appurtenance were engorged with blood which suffused the subcutaneous layers, the former approximating the coloration of Albion's floral emblem, the latter that of the Prunus avium, or sweet cherry. His amusing sub- and supralabials resembled nothing so much as a common loop knot, and their ambient hirsute facial adornment appeared like small, tabular and columnar crystals of frozen water.

Clenched firmly between his incisors was a smoking piece whose grey fumes, forming a tenuous ellipse about his occiput, were suggestive of a decorative seasonal circlet of holly. His visage was wider than it was high, and when he waxed audibly mirthful, his corpulent abdominal region undulated in the manner of impectinated fruit syrup in a hemispherical container. He was, in short, neither more nor less than an obese, jocund, multigenarian gnome, the optical perception of whom rendered me visibly frolicsome despite every effort to refrain from so being. By rapidly lowering and then elevating one eyelid and rotating his head slightly to one side, he indicated that trepidation on my part was groundless.

Without utterance and with dispatch, he commenced filling the aforementioned appended hosiery with various of the aforementioned articles of merchandise extracted from his aforementioned previously dorsally transported cloth receptacle. Upon completion of this task, he executed an abrupt about- face, placed a single manual digit in lateral juxtaposition to his olfactory organ, inclined his cranium forward in a gesture of leave-taking, and forthwith effected his egress by renegotiating (in reverse) the smoke passage. He then propelled himself in a short vector onto his conveyance, directed a musical expulsion of air through his contracted oral sphincter to the antlered quadrupeds of burden, and proceeded to soar aloft in a movement hitherto observable chiefly among the seed-bearing portions of a common weed. But I overheard his parting exclamation, audible immediately prior to his vehiculation beyond the limits of visibility: "Ecstatic Yuletide to the planetary constituency, and to that self same assemblage, my sincerest wishes for a salubriously beneficial and gratifyingly pleasurable period between sunset and dawn."


[/QUOTE][/QUOTE]

[Sharni]

'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE IMPLEMENTATION

'Twas the night before implementation and all through the house
Not a system was working, not even the mouse.
The programmers hung by their tubes in despair
In hopes that a miracle soon would be there.

The users were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of transactions danced in their heads.
When out of the Monitor came such a clatter
I sprang from my desk to see what was the matter.

And what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a guru programmer (with a sixpack of beer).
His resume glowed with experience so rare,
And he turned out great code with a bit-pusher's flair.

More rapid than eagles, his programs they came,
As he whistled and shouted and called them by name.
On Update! On Inquiry! On OOP! On Delete!
On Sequel! On Timeout! On Methods Complete!

His eyes were glazed over; fingers nimble and lean
From weekends and nights in front of a screen.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Turning specs into code; then he turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger upon the RUN keys
The system came up and it worked PERFECTLY!

The Updates updated; Deletes they deleted;
The Inquiries inquired and Closing completed.
He tested each whistle, and tested each bell
With nary an edit, for all had gone well.

The system was finished, the tests were concluded,
The client's last changes were even included.
And the client exclaimed with a snarl and a taunt
'IT'S JUST WHAT I ASKED FOR---BUT NOT WHAT I WANT!'

[Lilith]

omg those were fabulous!!!

[wyndhy]

you're giviin' me lots of chuckles this morning, sharni. :D

[sodaklostsoul]

Those were funny, ty Sharni

[jseal]

Sharni,

Pretty cool! Thank you.

[cowgirltease]

Sharni thank you for the soldiers version.