Archived at: http://www.alchemistmatt.com/twas/

Contains 849 versions of the classic poem, including headers from most of the posts and credits when available. The versions range from innocent and cute to vulgar and obscene, so read at your own discretion. I have collected most of these versions by searching the newsgroups using Google Groups and the now retired Deja News. I'd be happy to receive any additional versions you might have.

See the Main Index for the complete contents.

Short Title: Metallica

   Author:   Xar5647402
   Email: xar5647402@aol.com
   Date: 1998/12/16
   Forums: alt.rock-n-roll.metal.metallica
   
I didn't write this, I don't know who wrote it.  I'm not taking any
credit for it.  If you know who wrote it, thank them for writing
it.  Now, enjoy the rest of the "Night Before.." ripoff.

Twas The Night Before Metalli-Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas when all through the land
Metalli-freaks everywhere dreamed of their band
Their posters were hung by the speakers with care
In hopes that their stereos soon would be blarin'

The metal heads were crashed out all snug in their sacks
While memories of moshing ached in their backs
This chick in her teddy and I in my thong
Were just getting ready to rock the night long

When out in the front I heard such a clatter
I busted my ass to see what was the matter
I ran to the window to see what was there
And what I saw out there straightened my hair

What to my wondering eyes did appear
But an old Chevy Blazer, Not eight tiny reindeer
With a big old tall driver with such a long mane
And in the seat next to him, I spied the Dane

The third one's hair was in long black dreads
And the last one's hair was cut short to his head
More rapid than eagles the foursome they came
And they whistled and shouted and called me by name

"Hey, Dick, come on down here, we're gonna jam
Go check in the fridge and bring us some ham
And a few cold beers, now that would be cool
Better move fast you dern idjit fool!"

And then in twinkling, I heard in the den
The crunchin' and bangin' of tuning within
I came back from the fridge with the beers and the ham
And sat my ass down to watch 'em all jam

All hell broke loose and the music was loud
And I sat there alone feeling oh very proud
The Dane, was bangin' like a madman possessed
And I really considered my sorry ass blessed

James was a singin' and playing his axe
Jason was ragin' man, that's the facts
Then Kirk opened up with a huge fuckin' lead
The sweat on my forehead's beginning to bead

As I sat there and watched them, I started to wonder
If I was dreaming and what I heard thunder?
They couldn't be here at my house Christmas Eve
I'm sure they all had other plans up their sleeves

Metallica coming and playing for me?
Had I been that good? Man, this couldn't be
The music was loud as the Marshalls roared on
After a couple of hours they said that was all
And thanked me and told me that they'd had a ball

I couldn't believe that all this was real
As they started to leave I said, "Man what's the deal?"
They went on to explain that that they felt like St. Nick
And come round to play to all good Metalli-Dicks

I watched them pull out in pull out in that old Chevy Blazer
And felt like I had been shot with a taser
But I heard them explain as they drove out of site
"Happy Fuckin' Christmas, Dick, and to all a good night"

I woke Christmas morning, stiff as a stick
On my bedside table a Metallica pick?

--
"Consummatum est.  My Blood congeals and I can write no more."

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Short Title: Metalworking

   Author:   Carl Byrns
   Email: oxygen1@concentric.net
   Date: 1998/12/24
   Forums: rec.crafts.metalworking
   
(With apologies to Clement Clark Moore)

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the shop
All the tools were in use, even the mop
We were scrapping out parts like poop through a goose
Every fit was too tight, every clearance too loose

When out at the dock there rose such a clatter
We all stopped our work to see what's the matter
There appeared at the back door a red-suited man
Driving a Mack R600 pulling a fifty-three foot van

His helpers fired up the forklift and quick as a flash
All our old tools went into the trash
Out from the truck came new machines
Painted gray or light green

In came Bridgeports and South Bends, Oh how lucky!
Here's a Leblond the size of Kentucky
Starret and Snap-On (only the best)
And Ingersoll-Rand (we were impressed)

When all was done, everything bolted down
The red suited man was ready to leave town
Only then did he speak- he said with a frown
"You darn fools, you had the prints upside down!"

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah
-Carl

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Short Title: Miami

From: Danny Taddei (barrelorum@netscape.net)
Subject: Miami Style - 'Twas the night before Christmas - 
Newsgroups: alt.fan.jimmy-buffett
Date: 2003-12-17 19:46:22 PST 

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all 'cross Miami
Not a gator was stirring nor palm trees was swaying
The swim fins where hung, by the A/C with care
In hopes that St. Nicholas would soon turn on the air;

The children were nestled all snug in the sailboats,
While visions of dolphin fish danced in the bait floats;
And mamma in her 'sundress, and I in my shorts,
Had just settled down for a long fish report,

When out on the bay there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the hammock to see what was the matter.
Through the companionway, I flew like a snook,
Tore open the hatches and had me a look.

The Miami moonlit the boats like the day
And the phosphorescence lit up the bay,
When, what was that noise that was hurting my ears,
Was a red and white scarab with eight reindeer for gears,

With a little old driver, who thought himself Captain,
With a pile of fishing gear with charts for their wrappin’.
More rapid than Wahoo his rumblings they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called us by name;

"Now, DASHER! now, DANCER! now, PRANCER and VIXEN!
On, COMET! on CUPID! on, DONDER and BLITZEN!
To the top of the bay! to the top of the Keys!
Now open Venetian now bridge tender please!"

As dry palm fawns that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with a shoal, mount to the sky,
So up to the mast-top the coursers they flew,
With the boat full of fishing rods, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the deck
The scratching of rub rails; what a pain in the neck.
As I shot down my rum, and was turning around,
Climbing aboard St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all aloha, from his head to bare feet,
And he hopped ‘cause he just stubbed his toe on my cleat;
A bundle of rods he had flung on his back,
So I let him hang out and I helped him unpack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
His cheeks like hibiscus, his nose like a cherry!
His chapped little lips on his face redder then tan,
And the goatee on his chin was as white as the sand;

The stump of a Cuban cigar he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like the reef;
He had a red face and a sun burned belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a man-o-war of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old mate,
And I laughed when I thought about what he must have ate;
A wink of his eye and he offered me brew,
So I knew deep inside he must be a cool dude;

He spoke not a word, as he unloaded his cargo,
And filled all the swim fins; like a reverse embargo,
He opened a beer and hoisted it high,
And motioned he’d have to leave before the tide;

He sprang to his scarab, and twisted the key,
And started those engines with jubilee.
But I heard him exclaim, from his over sized whaler,
"HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND I WISH I WAS A SAILOR!"

copyright 2001 Danny Taddei


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Short Title: MichaelJacksonTrial

Newsgroups: alt.music.michael-jackson 
From: "A Adams" 
Date: 24 Dec 2004 18:40:13 -0800 
Subject: A little Christmas cheer... Enjoy ;) 

"Twas the night before Trial" by Paris  Jackson

Twas the night before trial and all through the house
Not a child was weeping, anywhere in the house;
The chairs were propped under the doorhandles with care
In hopes the pedophile wouldn't appear.

The little boys were nestled snug in their beds
While nightmares of pedophilia danced through their heads;
And mamma Debbie and her girlfriend taking a nap
Had just settled down after a quick lesbian snack.

When out in the hall I heard such a clatter
And I peeked out the door to see the mad hatter
Out in the hall he was dressed really flash
With a bee keeper hat and a beauty queen sash

Dancing like he was ready to blow
I was worried for the boys in the room just below.
The freak moonwalked and shamoned and clutched his groin and his rear
While I shivered and shook and clutched my teddy bear.

His skin was white, his nose like a pick
While his hair was dyed black and ironed straight as a stick.
As rapid as gunshots his pelvic thrusts came
He wiggled and danced and called out his own name.

Oh Michael! Oh King of Pop, you sexy white stud!
I'm no longer a spabook, although I have black blood!
I'll have it transfused and do away with it all!
Until I'm white inside out, oh yes I will have it all!

With a spin he was gone, down to the second floor
To look for the boys, and beg for some more;
I tip toed downstairs following him round
to where the boys where sleeping, not making a sound;

Then I heard the rattling, like keys on a chain
And I knew my brothers would soon be feeling ass pain.
I picked up the phone and alerted the press
And ran to the boys bedroom to check out the mess

My faux daddy had left blood all over the floor
when he took what he wanted then went back for more.
In ten minutes flat, Tom Sneddon was there
And camera men, reporters and policemen appeared.

I pointed the way to my brothers room
Where "tupperware face" was playing games with a broom.
"We've got you, you creep" the officers yelled
And pedo pan screamed like a bitch and they wrestled him to the ground.

His plastic nose fell off like it was made out of jelly
And he crapped his pants, and made the whole room smelly.
He giggled and grimaced after soiling his self
And poked his tongue out of his collagen mouth.

There was a clinking of metal as the cuffs clicked shut
And faux daddy flipped out and wiggled his butt.
He sprang to his feet, tearing his clothes
Until he was fragile, alone and exposed.

We've got him, the police said and gave Sneddon a whistle
The DA running over with the speed of a missle.
I heard Sneddon say as they dragged faux daddy away out of sight,
"From now boys everywhere will be able to sleep safely at night."


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Short Title: MicrobialDiseases

Subject:      Another "Night Before Christmas"
From:         Krin135 
Date:         1997/12/16
Newsgroups:   bit.listserv.snurse-l

  In wishing all a Merry and SAFE Christmas, I hope the humor of this will
  help the medicine of the message go down:

'Twas the Night *After* Christmas

'Twas the night after Christmas
And all through the kitchen
Little creatures were stirring up
Potions bewitching.

Salmonella were working
In the gravy and soup
In the hopes they could turn it
To poisonous goop!

Clostridium were nestled
All snug in the ham,
While Hep A virus
Danced in the yam.

Little John and his Gobots
And Mary in her cap
Had just settled down
For a long overdue nap.

While down in their guts
There arose such a clatter
They sprang from their beds
To see what was the matter.

They ran to the bathroom,
Threw open the door!
Too late!  Now their mother
Is cleaning the floor.

Wash your hands before cooking!
Put your food away quick!
Or that jolly old food germ
We know as Saint Sick

With his eight tiny microbes
Will ruin the feast
As they make their toxins
He calls out to each beast -

Now Hepatitis!
Now Staph and Perfringens!
We'll punish those humans
For Hoilday binges!

On, Botulism!
E. coli!  Shigella!
Go get 'em, Amoeba!
Work fast, Salmonella!

If those humans can't learn
To handle food right,
A Merry Christmas they'll have
Then a long, sleepless night!

--by Rich Sagall

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Short Title: Microbiology

Subject:      A Microbiology Christmas  :-)
From:         yersinia@CYBERNEX.NET (Yersinia)
Date:         1997/12/15
Message-ID:   <199712160144.UAA03964@pop.cybernex.net>
Newsgroups:   bionet.microbiology


Holiday Greetings to my fellow Microbiologists, Students and 
Microbiology Enthusiasts,

It's that time of the year once again...so I'd like to ask the 
squeamish and those who lack a really bizarre sense of humor to hit 
their"delete" keys now and read no further.  For those of you who are 
new (subscribed to this newsgroup after I originally posted it on 
12/16/96, you will find the Mad Scientist version of "The Night 
Before Christmas." To paraphrase my "disclaimer" from last year:  
These are on the sick side (to say the very least) but it all started on 
a dare from my husband (then boyfriend) in Dec. 1995. I predict that 
some of you will think they're too psycho, but others of you will enjoy 
them.  I'll take my chances that you'll all think I'm nuts, and I hope you 
enjoy reading and singing these as much as I enjoyed writing them.

Infectionately,
Yersinia.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(1) A Mad Scientist Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas and all thru my house,
Not a specimen was stirring, not even a louse.
The test tubes were capped and the rat cages closed,
The mold cultures fuzzy, the mice in repose.
The oven kept warm the ebola and pox,
I still need to locate my husband's clean socks...
But that has to wait till tomorrow, I know;
My buggies still need that much more time to grow.

When from the kitchen came a massive explosion,
I leapt from my bed in perpetual motion.
Grabbing my lab coat I pulled on my pants,
Struggling into them a sick sort of dance.
With fury and haste I put on a shirt,
Running out of the bedroom on feet black with dirt.
Buttoning my lab coat and donning a mask,
I ran into the kitchen holding an Erlenmeyer flask.

I nearly passed out when the man who I saw,
dressed in containment gear sealed without flaw,
Held high a huge sack with his arm stiff and straight,
I could tell he must have a hard time with his weight.
Through the mike from his suit he said without pause,
"Ho Ho Ho, Merry Christmas, I'm Hanta Claus!"
Over his shoulder he hefted the sack,
We walked into the living room, I offered a snack.
He took it and smiled, placed the sack by my bench,
Instantly I noticed the Clostridium stench.
Brimming with joy, I cried out with glee,
"Did you bring all of these germies for me?"
"Oh yes," said Hanta, "I must show propriety;
By bringing you microbes, I'm saving society.
"You are the only one who loves these diseases.
Therefore I'm glad to oblige who it pleases."

Delirious with excitement I sat by his side
While he gave me a year's stock of microscope slides,
And pasteur pipettes, drug resistant bacteria,
Such as staph, strep and cultures from the genus Neisseria.

The gleam in my eyes caused the house to be lit,
The moment he gave me a gram-staining kit,
Clostridium tetani, perfringens and sporogenes,
Salmonella typhi and Streptococcus pyogenes!
Plus viruses known to produce hepatitis,
Herpes, and rabies, yellow fever and meningitis!
But that was not all, he had parasites too,
Plasmodia, trypanosomes and schistosomes true!
Tapeworms and roundworms, plague-carrying fleas.
How sincerely generous, Hanta did aim to please!

At long last he said he must now go away,
His sled was experiencing radioactive decay.
"Thanks for the presents," I said, shaking his hand,
"They'll keep me off the streets, you understand."

Hanta Claus smiled and bid me goodnight,
Shouting "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good blight!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Van der waals with boughs of holly..."

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Short Title: MiddleEarth

From: MPrilla (mprilla@aol.com)
Subject: Happy Holidays 
Newsgroups: alt.games.baldurs-gate
Date: 2003-12-24 11:28:46 PST 

Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, Happy Winter Solstice, Happy Ramadan, Happy
Hanukah, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy New Year, Night of Power, Feast of Fast Breaking
(Eid), Red-Nosed Reindeer Day or whatever holiday you are celebrating at this
time of year.  Did I miss anyone?  


'Twas The Night Before Christmas in Middle Earth by MCB 

'Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the Shire
Not a hobbit was stirring, 
Not even a squire
The ring was hid on the mantle with care
In hopes that Gandalf would soon be there

Then what to Frodo's eyes should appear? 
A figure on horseback, a dark cavalier
Dressed all in black from his feet to his skull
He knew in a moment
It was a Nazgul

More rapid than eagles
The others they came
They call "To Mordor,"
And they called him by name
Back to the hobbit hole
Frodo soon flew
With Sting in his hand, 
And the golden ring too

Through the hole they came
With a step and a hiss
It was dressed in the robes
Of Mordor's abyss
It spoke not a word
And went straight to its work
It filled Frodo's stockings
And turned with a jerk

The Nazgul looked at Frodo
And took a moment to pause
Before removing his hood
It was Santa Claus! 
The hobbit, he smiled
What a glorious sight
That Nazgul was Santa on this good Christmas night. 

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Short Title: Migraine

Subject:      "Twas The Night Before.... (repost)
From:         "C.Cantz" 
Date:         1997/12/19
Message-ID:   <349a09a7.4E87@philly.infi.net>
Newsgroups:   alt.support.headaches.migraine

"Twas the night before a migraine, and all through my head,
Nothing seemed normal, not sleeping with Fred.
The painkillers were stacked on the nightstand with care;
Oh no, not another one, this cannot be fair!
The doctors were nestled, all snug in their beds,
While visions of insurance checks danced in their heads.
Fred's in his PJ's, and I'm waiting the attack,
I wish I could take a long Winter's nap.
I lay there and wait for the headache to begin,
Oh, please someone tell me why I cannot drink gin.

I sprang from my bed to tighten the blinds,
Why did I eat Chinese when we went out to dine?!
My senses are funky, my nose smelling toast,
Maybe it's time for an Imitrex dose.
The pain's getting worse; it's harder to cope,
I know it is time for the mind-numbing dope.
There's no way I can sleep---I'll check out my newsgroup,
And what through my eyes did appear - more make money poop.

Now Karen, now Bob, now Cyndi and Russ,
You're all my buddies, and I really can trust.
On Ronnie, on Dennis, on Anne, and also Helen,
All these posts about pain, I just feel like yellin!
To all I could not mention - this rhymin's a bitch,
I'm afraid my blood vessels are starting to twitch.
I know my poem is really quite lame,
Even St Nick would say I'm to blame.
My purpose was only to lighten your day;
I'm sometimes off-base, but what can I say.

Life could be worse---my frequent refrain,
You are all my friends, but often just a name.
You all give me comfort, your stories give me chills,
I wish I could e-mail that white, magic pill.
For the doctors who treat us with ignorant pause,
I wish to inform you, I am Mrs. Claus!
Their gonads are hung by my chimney with care,
With them wishing a good surgeon would soon be there.
I can assure you these doctors are feeling quite low,
They all cried to me, "OH NO, WE HAVE HMO!"

May the holidays bring an end to your plight,
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Mrs. Mary Claus

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Short Title: Military01

TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS...

'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 airman, 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 roiled 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!

 -Author Unknown
(Possibly written by Lance Corporal James M. Schmidt stationed in Washington DC in 1986)


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Short Title: Military02

from http://mrmom.amaonline.com/asoldier.htm

A Soldier's Christmas

The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
my daughter beside me, angelic in rest.

Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree, I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.

My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep
in perfect contentment, or so it would seem.
So I slumbered,  perhaps I started to dream.

The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,
But I opened my eye when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know,
Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.

My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
and I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.

A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.

"What are you doing?" I asked without fear
"Come in this moment, it's freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!"

For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts,
to the window that danced with a warm fire's light
then he sighed and he said "Its really all right,
I'm out here by choice. I'm here every night"

"Its my duty to stand at the front of the line,
that separates you from the darkest of times.
No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.

My Gramps died at 'Pearl on a day in December,"
then he sighed, "That's a Christmas 'Gram always remembers."
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of 'Nam
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.

I've not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile.
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red white and blue... an American flag.

"I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home,
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat,
I can carry the weight of killing another
or lay down my life with my sisters and brothers
who stand at the front against any and all,
to insure for all time that this flag will not fall."

"So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright
Your family is waiting and I'll be all right."
"But isn't there something I can do, at the least,
"Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you've done,
For being away from your wife and your son."

Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
"Just tell us you love us, and never forget
To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone.
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.

For when we come home, either standing or dead,
to know you remember we fought and we bled
is payment enough, and with that we will trust.
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us.

Michael Marks
December 7th, 2000
marksman@patriot.net



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Short Title: Military03

   Author:   CUITH
   Email: cuith@aol.com
   Date: 1998/12/19
   Forums: alt.war.vietnam
   
  This was forwarded to me by a Marine Dog handler friend of mine, wishing
  me a Merry Christmas.  So I thought I would post it here for you and at the
  same time wish you all a Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays.

"Twas the night before Christmas as I flew o'er the Marine Base,
when I spied a young man who seemed out of place.
His eyes showed compassion, his hair a bit long,
but his head was held high and his body was strong.

His air was confident, his uniform smart,
but what impressed me most was the size of his heart.
For he embodied honor, one of his country's best,
and the words U.S. NAVY showed large on his chest.

As I stood there in wonder and gazed into his eyes,
the words that he spoke took me quite by surprise.
"What's wrong Santa, haven't you ever seen a sailor before?"
I sensed something special and longed to know more.

"To be honest, this field thing wasn't part of my plan,
but God didn't give me a boat or tin can."
The words he spoke next surprised me all the more,
"But I'm as proud of my Navy as I am of the Corps!"

"Don't worry Santa, that I'm a sailor you see,
for when a Marine goes down they will still call on me.
They will forget I'm a sailor, they'll call in my stock.
At the top of their lungs they'll yell, "Get me the Doc!"

"And I'll answer that call, anytime, anywhere.
Though I know I'm a target I really don't care.
I'll face incoming fire as I race cross the land,
and use my very own body to shield a downed man."

"Working long hours and into the night,
my unit's battle is over, but I'm just starting to fight.
For the life of every Marine is sacred to me.
I refuse to surrender them to death, and in that I'll find victory."

"And yet I'll take the time to comfort a dying man,
to sit down by his side, to reach out and hold his hand.
For it takes as much courage to care as to fight.
For just as the poem says, many don't "go gently into that night."

"Santa, it's not any one uniform that makes you a man,
but rather it's those ideals for which you choose to stand.
I draw my line here, it's long and it's plain.
For pain, hurt and suffering are the things I disdain."

I know very well that I may lose my life,
so that a Marine may see an unmet child and young wife.
So Santa, it really doesn't matter if they don't like my hair,
I'm a Navy Corpsman, there Doc, and I'll always be there."

"I follow the brave Docs who have come long before,
from Belleau Wood, Iwo and Lebannon's shore.
As history proudly shows, they all gave their best,
and for those who have died, surely they're blessed."

"At Inchon, the gulf and times during Tet,
our brothers have fallen, but we carry on yet.
for we carry their honor and legacy still."
As I held back my tears it took all of my will.

I had to leave him there for I had other plans,
but I know in my heart that the Corps is in good hands.
As I flew away I heard his laughter, it rang so loud and clear.
"Hey, Santa, how 'bout a nice pair of boots for the 26 miler next year?"

HMC(FMF/SW) Mark Forsberg

So I wish you all a very happy and blessed Holidays.

Semper Fi
Greg "Doc" Lutes

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Short Title: Military04

   Author:   Michael Yared
   Email: myared@erols.com
   Date: 1998/12/28
   Forums: sci.military.naval
   
Navy version of 'Twas the Night Before Christmas.'

'Twas the night before Christmas, he lived in a crowd
In a 40-man berthing, with shipmates so loud.
I had come down the exhaust stack with presents to give,
And to see just who in this rack did live.

I looked all about, a strange sight did I see,
No tinsel, No presents, not even a tree.
No stockings were hung, just boots close at hand,
On the bulkhead hung pictures of far distant land.

He had medals and badges and awards of all kind,
And a sober thought came into my mind.
For this place was different, it was so dark and dreary
I had found the house of a sailor, once I could see clearly.

The sailor lay sleeping, silent and alone,
Curled up in his rack, dreaming of home.
The face was so gentle, the berthing in such good order,
Not how I pictured a United States Sailor.

Was this the hero whom I saw on TV?
Defending his country so we all could be free?
I realized the families that I've seen this night,
Owed their lives to these sailors who were willing to fight.

Soon round the world, the children would play,
And grownups would celebrate a new Christmas Day.
They all enjoyed freedom each month of the year
Because of sailors like this one sleeping right here.

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

The sailor awakened and I heard a rough voice,
"Santa, don't cry, for this life is my choice."
"Defend the seas this day, So others may rejoice.

The sailor rolled over and drifted to sleep,
I couldn't control it, I continued to weep.
I kept watch for hours so silent, so still,
And we both shivered from the night's cold chill.

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


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Short Title: Military05

From: Elizabeth (elizabethDELETE@THIShamptonroads.com)
Subject: For John Rogers 
Newsgroups: rec.sport.football.college
Date: 2002-12-20 04:45:41 PST 

Twas the night before Christmas, the ship was out steaming,
Sailors stood watch while others were dreaming.
They lived in a crowd with racks tight and small,
In a 47 man berthing, cramped one and all.

I had come down the ladder with present to give,
And to see inside just who might perhaps live.
I looked all about, a strange sight did I see,
No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.

No stockings were hung, shined boots close at hand,
On the bulkhead hung pictures of a far distant land.
They had medals and badges and awards of all kind,
And a sober thought came into my mind.

For this place was different, so dark and so dreary,
I had found a home of a Sailor, once I saw clearly.
A sailor lay sleeping, silent and alone,
Curled up in a rack and dreaming of home.

The face was so gentle, the berthing squared away,
This was the United States Sailor today.
This was the hero I saw on TV,
Defending out country so we could be free.

I realized the families that I would visit this night,
Owed their lives to these Sailors lay willing to fight.
Soon round the world, the children would play,
And grown-ups would celebrate on Christmas day.

They all enjoyed freedom each day of the year,
Because of the Sailor, like the one lying here.
I couldn't help wonder how many lay alone,
On a cold Christmas Eve, at sea, far from home.

The very thought brought a tear to my eye,
I dropped to my knees and started to cry.
The Sailor awakened and I heard a calm voice,
"Santa, don't cry, this life is my choice."

"Defending the sea all days of the year,
So others may live and be free with no fear."
I thought for a moment, what a difficult road,
To live a life guided by honor and code.

After all it's Christmas Eve and the ship's underway!
But freedom isn't free and it's Sailors who pay.
The Sailor say's to our country "be free and sleep tight.
No harm will come, not on my watch and not on this night."

The Sailor rolled over and drifted to sleep,
I couldn't control it, I continued to weep.
I kept watch for hours, so silent ,so still,
I watched as the Sailor shivered from the night's cold chill.

I didn't want to leave on that cold dark night,
This guardian on honor so willing to fight.
The Sailor rolled over and with a voice strong and sure,
Commanded, "Carry on Santa, it's Christmas, and All is Secure!"

Merry Christmas!!!

--
Elizabeth
Asheville, NC

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Short Title: Military06

From: Patricia Buss (patbussnospam@cox.net)
Subject: Twas the Night Befor Xmas 
Newsgroups: sci.med.dentistry
Date: 2002-12-15 17:48:52 PST 

'Twas the Night Before Christmas (Submariner Version)

'Twas the night before Christmas, he lived in a crowd,
In a 40 man berthing, with shipmates so loud.
I came down the Sail with presents to give,
And to see for myself who, in this rack, did live.

I looked all about, a strange sight did I see,
No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
No stockings were hung, just poopy-suit close at hand,
On the bulkhead hung pictures of faraway homeland.

He had medals and badges and awards of all kinds
But one special pin caught my eye, and did shine.
They seemed to be Dolphins, with a small submarine
Pinned on with pride, and held in esteem.

Then a sobering thought came into my mind.
This brand of Sailor is a very special kind.
For this place was different, it was so dark and dreary,
But slowly I recognized it, once I could see clearly.

It wasn't a tin can, a tank, or a trailer --
But I'd now found the "house" of a Submarine Sailor.

The Sailor lay sleeping, silent and alone,
Curled up in his rack, and dreaming of home.
The face was so gentle, the berth in good order,
Not how I pictured a US Submarine Sailor.

Was this the hero whom I saw on TV?
Defending his country so we all could be free?
I realized, the families I've seen on this night,
Owed their lives to these Sub Sailors, so willing to fight.

Soon 'round the world, the children would play,
And grown-ups would celebrate a new Christmas Day.
They all enjoyed freedom each month of the year,
Because of the Sailor, like the one lying here.

I couldn't help wond'ring how many lay alone,
On a cold Christmas Eve, on a sea far from home.
The very thought brought welling tears to my eye,
I dropped to my knees and started to cry.

The Sailor awakened and I heard his rough voice
saying, "Santa, don't cry, for this life is my choice.
I defend the seas this day, So others may rejoice."

The Sailor rolled over and drifted to sleep,
I couldn't control it -- I continued to weep.
I kept watch for hours -- so silent, so still,
And we both shivered from the submarine's cold chill.

I didn't want to leave on that cold, dark night,
This Guardian of Honor, so willing to fight.
Then the Sailor rolled over and with a voice soft and pure,
Whispered, "Carry on Santa -- Christmas Day, All's Secure!!"


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Short Title: Military07

Subject:      'Twas The Night Before Armageddon
From:         Fresh Air 
Date:         1997/12/18
Message-ID:   <34993917.4456@Public-Action.com>
Newsgroups:   alt.politics.media,alt.conspiracy,alt.current-events.clinton.whit
ewater,alt.politics.radical-left,alt.politics.libertarian,talk.politics.guns

Adapted from original maudlin drivel
  written by a Major Bruce Lovelace
Rewritten to resemble the truth by a friend of the
  Waco Holocaust Electronic Museum

 'Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone
 In a tumbled down shack made of plaster and stone
 I had come down the chimney with presents and cheer
 And to see just who had made a home here

 As I peered through the gloom, a strange sight did I see
 No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree
 No stocking by mantel, just boots filled with sand
 On the wall hung pictures of far distant lands

 With medals and badges, awards of all kinds--
 A sobering thought came into my mind
 For this house was different, darkened, and dreary
 A marine's humble home, I could see that now clearly

 The marine lay asleep, silent, alone
 Curled up on the floor in this hovel of stone.
 The face was so gentle, the room so unclean
 It was not how I pictured a US Marine

 Was this the hero of whom I'd just read?
 Curled up on a poncho, the floor for a bed?
 I realized the Americans I'd visit tonight
 Owed their wealth to marines who were eager to fight

 Soon 'round America, children would play
 And grownups indulge in a bright Christmas day.
 They all enjoyed riches throughout the year
 Because of marines like the one lying here

 I couldn't help wonder: this marine so 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.

 He woke to my weeping: I heard a rough voice
 "Santa, don't cry, this life is my choice.
 I get my kicks, don't you worry 'bout me
 I got billions in war-toys, and the ammo is free

 "I travel the jungles, the deserts, and seas
 And people all over are eager to please
 But just to be sure, I torture a few
 I treat 'em real special, you bet I do.

 "Mostly the women, but sometimes men, too,
 And they keep real quiet about what I do.
 No, I don't need family, kids, or a home
 I'm happy when people just let me alone

 "I'm trained for this job and I do it well:
 I kill, ask no questions, the rest go to hell.
 And when I get worried that I'll wind up dead
 I get a new battery for this chip in my head."

 The marine rolled over and drifted to sleep
 I couldn't control it, I continued to weep.
 Men died for our freedom and counted it cheap
 Then we hired these wolves to look after our sheep.

----------
Carol A. Valentine
President, Public Action, Inc.

Have you seen the Waco Holocaust Electronic Museum?
See what they did to the mothers and children--
http://www.Public-Action.com/SkyWriter/WacoMuseum

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Short Title: Military08

From: Vern Pellerin (vpeller2@flarenchaffsan.rr.com)
Subject: Merry X-mas to all 
Newsgroups: comp.sys.ibm.pc.games.flight-sim
Date: 2002-12-23 22:09:07 PST 

I *think* this was originally written by a guy named "Brad Alexander" and 
posted in this newsgroup on 12-23-1996.  It's a great poem, so I'm posting it 
again.

Merry Christmas everyone.
 -Vern.


'Twas the night before Christmas and all 'cross the base,
Every aircrew was rushing, it seemed like a race

The missiles were hung off the hardpoints with care,
In the knowledge that St. Nikolai soon would be there.

No one was snuggled all safe in their beds,
Knowing that was a good way to wake up dead.

The pilots in briefing and the ground crews on line,
This night of strikes was shaping up fine.

When out of the speakers arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the briefing to see what was the matter.

Out to the flight line I flew like a flash,
To get in the air, with bandits to splash!

I lift off the runway, my wingman goes high,
Asking the AWACS for vectors to fly.

And what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a gaggle on radar, getting so near.

I called to my wingman to go combat spread,
And called for more fighters as I forged ahead.

I fired my missiles at the planes flying low,
The remaining intruders were lit by the glow.

A sudden explosion far off to my right,
Told me St. Nikolai was with us that night.

The bombers jettisoned their ordnance and fled,
Not wishing to join their compadres, the dead.

I set my sights on St. Nick on that night,
And climbed to follow the path of his flight.

We ducked and weaved and dodged in the sky,
Firing missiles and guns, missing low, missing high.

My ordnance expended, his fuel all but gone,
Sadly we found this battle was done.

But I heard him exclaim as he flew out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good flight."

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Short Title: Military09

From: Michael Marks
Date: 2003-12-18

The Sands of Christmas

I had no Christmas spirit when I breathed a weary sigh,
and looked across the table where the bills were piled too high.
The laundry wasn’t finished and the car I had to fix,
My stocks were down another point, the Dolphins lost by six.

And so with only minutes till my son got home from school
I gave up on the drudgery and grabbed a wooden stool.
The burdens that I carried were about all I could take,
and so I flipped the TV on to catch a little break.

I came upon a desert scene in shades of tan and rust,
No snowflakes hung upon the wind, just clouds of swirling dust.
And where the reindeer should have stood before a laden sleigh,
eight hummers ran a column right behind an M1A.

A group of boys walked past the tank, not one was past his teens,
Their eyes were hard as polished flint, their faces drawn and lean.
They walked the street in armor with their rifles shouldered tight,
their dearest wish for Christmas, just to have a silent night.

Other soldiers gathered, hunkered down against the wind,
To share a scrap of mail and dreams of going home again.
There wasn’t much at all to put their lonely hearts at ease,
They had no Christmas turkey, just a pack of MREs.

They didn't have a garland or a stocking I could see,
They didn't need an ornament-- they lacked a Christmas Tree.
They didn’t have a present even though it was tradition,
the only boxes I could see were labled "ammunition."

I felt a little tug and found my son now by my side,
He asked me what it was I feared, and why it was I cried.
I swept him up into my arms and held him oh so near
and kissed him on the forehead as I whispered in his ear.

There’s nothing wrong my little son, for safe we sleep tonight,
our heroes stand on foreign land to give us all the right,
to worry on the things in life that mean nothing at all,
instead of wondering if we will be the next to fall.

He looked at me as children do and said it's always right,
to thank the ones who help us and perhaps that we should write.
And so we pushed aside the bills and sat to draft a note,
to thank the many far from home, and this is what we wrote,

God bless you all and keep you safe, and speed your way back home.
Remember that we love you so, and that you’re not alone.
The gift you give you share with all, a present every day,
You give the gift of liberty and that we can’t repay.

Michael Marks
December 2003
marksman@patriot.net


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Short Title: Military10(MarineSentry)

From: dpr (&^%@&^%.com)
Subject: A Marine's Night Before Christmas 
Newsgroups: alt.education, alt.politics.bush, alt.politics.democrats.d, alt.politics.liberalism, alt.politics.republicans, alt.politics.usa.republican, alt.society.liberalism
Date: 2003-12-24 19:54:16 PST 

'Twas the night before Christmas, the stars shining bright,
The sentry was walking, his left, then his right.
His rifle it swung from his shoulder with ease,
his head kept alert from a chill in the breeze.

The troops were all nestled and warm in their racks,
while he stood his duty, his feet making tracks.
For he, in his helmet, with his rifle at side,
had just settled down in that 12 to 4 stride.

Then what to the shock of the sentry appeared,
was a little green sleigh pulled by camouflaged deer,
With a little old driver in dress blues and sword.
the sentry just stood there not saying a word,

He watched in amazement with eyes all aglow,
as the reindeer, in silence, pulled the sleigh low.
With a wink from the driver, a tip from his cover,
the sleigh like a huey, just pulled up and hovered.

The sentry was startled, bewitched, and in doubt,
but duty prevailed and these words rang out:
"Now wait a minute - halt who goes there!?"
but the little man smiled, "You've nothing to fear,

"For as sure as it's christmas, and as sure as you're here,
I've stopped on my route just to bring you good cheer!"
"Now attention to orders!" he said with a flair,
Then read from a page that he held in the air:

"For attention to duty while walking your post,
on the day of the year that we cherish the most,
here in this place on this solemn occasion,
I thank you, Marine, on behalf of the nation!"

He saluted the sentry, and cut sharp and clear,
then he took up the reins as he called to his deer,
"On Belleau, on Iwo, on An-Hoa and Chosin,
on you named-for-places both hell-hot and frozen!

And he called out once more as he sped out of sight,
Merry christmas, Marines, carry on and good night!"

Semper Fi!!!!!
(Author unknown)


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Last Modified January 7, 2007