'Twas the night before Christmas (with apologies to Clement Clarke Moore)

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the den
Not a creature was stirring, not even Glen;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In fear that much meh crap soon would be there;

The members were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of VMPs danced in their heads;
And mamma in her t-shirt, 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,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter .
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Moved that projector and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should intrude,
But a slow-moving sleigh, and eight Pitney Bowes dudes,

With a little old driver, so lively and brave,
I knew in a moment it must be big Dave.
As slow as molasses his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

“Now, SHEET SET! now, PILLOW! now, WAFEL and CHARGER!
On, EAR BUDS! on KNIFE SET! on, POOP SPRAY and SPEAKER!
We’ve been enroute three months! To the top of the wall!
Now spend away! waste away! throw away all!”

As dry leaves that before the wild mehtizens fly,
When they meet with a mehrathon, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of crap, and St. Irkolas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew my light saber, was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Irkolas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with putty and soot;
A bundle of junk he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a geek with his laptop pack.

His eyes – how hung over! his belches how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as fresh blow;

An old stale stroopwafel was tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little Irk belly,
That shook, when he laughed like something quite smelly.

He was chubby and plump, a mediocre old elf,
And I barfed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing but dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings with meh crap, the jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a fart, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the thorns of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
MEH-RRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!