Canonical List of 'Twas the Night Before Christmas Variations
Version 2007.1
Part 12 of 50
January 7, 2007

Compiled by: Matthew Monroe

Archived at:

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: ComputerStWozniak

From: (Nancy Carson)
Date:         1997/12/20
Message-ID:   <67fdbn$23js$>
Newsgroups:   rec.humor

                A VISIT FROM SAINT WOZ
                   by Marty Knight

'Twas the night before Christmas, sounds all through the house,
the printer a'buzzing; the clicking of mouse.
The floppies were stored in their cases with care
in hopes that St. Wozniak soon would be there.

The children were nestled, all snug in their beds,
while TransWarp GS's danced in their heads.
I need 3 megs more, but RAM costs a mint.
I'm nodding off, waiting for my printer to print.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I woke with a start, "Now what's the matter?"
Awakened from slumber I jumped up to see,
tripped over the dog and fell on my knee.

The moon shining onto the new fallen snow
formed a non-standard pallette with objects below.
When what to my poor bloodshot eyes should appear
but SHR graphics! Stereo sound do I hear!

With a sixteen bit chip and new bug-free GSOS,
I knew right away that it must be Saint Woz.
More rapid than Transwarp, his menus they came.
He clicked and he dragged and he called them by name.

"Now Pulldowns, now Buttons, now Dialogs, too.
On Finder, Mac Interface, we're faster than Mac II!
Blue slips for marketing! DTS better not scoff!
ProDOS format for Technotes or I'll lay you all off!

You know lame excuses make customers sad;
well Macs in the schools make Applers mad."
So up to the housetop his menus they flew
with a sack full of RAM chips and Saint Wozniak, too.

I listened intently with my two little ears
to true stereo sound spreading holiday cheer.
As I was scratching head and was turning around
down the chimney Saint Wozniak came with a bound.

He wore sneakers, a t-shirt, and blue jeans
stained with some soda (I think it was cream).
A bundle of chips he had slung on his back
and he looked like a hacker there searching his pack.

His eyes twinkled brightly, his dimples so merry,
his cheeks like twin apples, his nose like a cherry.
His droll little mouth smiled a smile O so grand,
a full bearded chin, AppleLink in his hand.

A thick slice of pizza he held tight with his teeth
while the steam from it circled his head like a wreath.
A plump little face and a round little belly;
he laughed and it shook like a bowl full of jelly.

He was chubby and plump; a right jolly old elf.
I laughed when I saw him - he resembled myself.
He winked his left eye and he twisted his head,
so I knew deep inside I had nothing to dread.

He said not a word, just went right to work.
He soldered and programmed, then turned with a jerk.
Then placing his finger on top of that mess,
and giving a nod - POOF! fast GS!

He leaped to his ship as it rose from the ground,
up into the sky, and as he turned 'round
I heard him exclaim, ere he flew out of sight,
"GS plusses for all, and to all a good night!"


Short Title: ComputerSysOp

   Author:   Corinne Brooks
   Date: 1998/12/25
'Twas the night before Hogswatch and all through the house
The one thing that moved was my hand on my mouse
In the snug hearth the firewall was banked up with care
No unwanted intruders would make their way there

The servers were nestled all snug in their racks,
Secure from bad crackers and hacker attacks,
And in the machine room, a sad place to be,
I sat there and stared at a dead IRC,

When suddenly hard-disks all made such a clatter,
I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter,
Something was happening out in the dark,
While the routers and monitors stuttered and sparked

And there on the console right before my eyes
A chat window opened much to my surprise
Saying "this is much quicker than quill pen and ink"
I confess that I didn't know what I should think

It went to say "Never mind, do not fear,"
"A joyous Noel and a Happy New Year!"
"For I am the angel who brings you the sign"
"And I must say the Internet saves loads of time"

I stuttered and mumbled and did not believe
Thinking this was a joke for a cold Christmas Eve
My friends all had lives and carols and crackers
While I sat and suffered from angelic hackers

"No, no" said the cursor, "now put away doubt
For I am the truth and as such I will out
Your machines are protected from all, you will find
Now go out and drink and know great peace of mind"

"But the sign!" I typed hurriedly, "what is this sign?
What must you say that's for ears none but mine?"
Said the cursor "Go out in this season of mirth,
And know that that the geeks shall inherit the earth"

So I went, and I drank and my head is now sore
And I can't swear exactly what happened before
And I would dismiss this as imagination
If not for this brand new and gleaming SPARCStation.....

Corinne Brooks
Mistress of the staffroom web-ring
Growing Old is Mandatory.... But ... Growing up is Optional!


Short Title: ComputerSystem

           Twas The Byte Before Computing 
     by Bert Happel (with apologies to Clement C. Moore)
     Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
     Not a circuit was working not even in my mouse;
     The files were all loaded on the hard disc with care,
     In hopes that the FAT would list them as there.
     The backups were nestled all snug in their sleeves,
     To keep the bytes from dropping off them like leaves;
     And the disc drive was quiet, taking a rest
     Just waiting to run the next boot-up test.
     When out of the speaker there arose such a clatter
     I sprang to my desk to see what was the matter.
     Away to the keyboard I flew like a flash,
     Threw open the drive-door and heard a loud crash.
     The lights on the breast of the new-fallen dust
     Gave a luster of mid-day to a CRT covered with crust.
     When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
     But a miniature sleigh and the eight data registers I fear.
     With a little old driver, so lively and gloss
     I knew in a moment he was a master of DOS.
     More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
     And he whistled out and called them by name
     "Now Binkley! Now Maximus! Now timEd and Squish!
     On, Telix! On, X00! On, Bark and WaZoo!
     To the top of the memory! To the top of the stack!
     Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
     As leaves before the wild hurricane fly,
     When they meet with an obstacle mount to the sky,
     So up on the screen the coursers they flew,
     With a sleigh full of utilities, and DOS commands too.
     As I drew back my head and was turning around,
     Out the RS-232 port he came with a bound.
     He was dressed all in ROM, from his head to his foot,
     And his clothes were all tarnished with bytes and some soot;
     A bundle of data he had flung on his back,
     And he looked like he had a program he wanted to crack.
     His eyes -- How they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!
     His cheeks were like roses, his nose was a cherry!
     His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
     And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;
     The stump of a pipe he held in his teeth,
     And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
     He had a broad face and a round little belly
     That shook when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly.
     He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
     And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
     A flash of the CRT and a twist of his head
     Soon gave me to know I had lost programs to dread;
     He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
     And filled all the RAM; then turned, the big jerk,
     And laying a finger aside of his nose,
     And giving a nod, in the RS-232 port he goes.
     He sprang to the sleigh, his team they all whistled,
     And away they all flew like they had sat on a thistle.
     But I heard him exclaim, ere he faded out of sight,
     "Bug-free programs to all and to all a good night!"
Copyright  1995-98, Kate Palenscar. Created 11/29/97; Revised 12/10/98.


Short Title: ComputerUpgrade1

--- THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS - Internet Style ---
A festive holiday poem
Hugh Drumm & Vincent Ambrose

 'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Net,
 There were hacker's a surfing. Geeks? 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!"


Short Title: ComputerUpgrade2

Originally published in:
The Durham Herald-Sun
Sunday, December 24, 2000
Section E, page 7

'Twas the Night Before ...
by Stephen White of Durham

Twas the week before Christmas, and all through the house
You could hear me beating the computer with the mouse.
The disk was hung up in the disk drive with care,
And, needless to say, I nearly pulled out my hair.

I gave up for that night, got ready for bed,
And wondered, "Should I just buy cards instead?"
Mama and daddy had just hit the hay,
So I told them good night, and went on my way.

When out in the yard I heard some commotion,
I jumped out of bed like waves from the ocean.
Over to the window I flew like a trout,
Opened it up and nearly fell out.

Two bright headlights on our newly spread gravel
Really helped this mystery start to unravel.
With what should my wondering eyes be struck,
But a red-nosed reindeer on the front of a brown truck.
With a big ol' feller in a UPS uniform
I knew in a moment it must be ... St. Norm?!?

His eyes had thick glasses, his arms were real strong.
'Cause the fragile package he threw landed with a bong!
Attached was an envelope, a message to behold,
"Open BEFORE Christmas -- St. Nick, North Pole."

I opened the parcel and what did I see?
A new 233 megahertz Pentium MMX PC!
I wrote him a letter, telling him I was obliged,
And I took it to be sent by the U.S. Post guys.

I walked in the Post Office and said, "This needs to go
"To my friend St. Nicholas in the North Pole."
He said not a word until he finished his work
And before I left, I thanked that postal clerk.

The door closed behind me and I clapped my hands
Since I had finished the task that not long ago began.
As I left, I saw Santa in a Ford ZX2,
Saying, "Merry Christmas, y'all, and Happy New Year, too!"


Short Title: ComputerUpgrade3

From: PseUDO (
Subject: A Geek's Night Before Christmas 
Newsgroups: nz.comp
Date: 2002-12-25 12:05:59 PST 
Twas the night before Christmas,
and all through the house . . .
my keyboard was clacking
as I flourished my mouse.

My opponent was moaning on the ground over there,
in hopes that a medic soon would be there.
He'd soon wish he'd just stayed in his bed
As my railgun slowly took aim at his head.

As I sat in my bathrobe and went for their flag
I Was all settled in for a night full of frag.
When up from the roof there arose such a clatter
I switched to "observer," and went to see what was the matter.

The lights of the Christmas Tree gave an eerie glow,
As my front door flew open and let in the snow!
When what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a crazy old man and eight little geeks!

With a crazy-eyed look and a bottle of Fanta,
I knew in a moment this must be Geek Santa!
More rapid than fiber optics, his little geeks came, then he
Burped and he farted, and called them by name!

Now Dexter, now Freddy, now Lewis, and Jasper!
On Arnie, On Sammy, on Poindexter, and Casper!
From the front of the porch to the back of the hall,
Get inside! Get inside! Get inside all!

And then, in a twinkling, I heard in the kitchen,
A lot of noise, and even some bitchin.
As they raided my fridge, and took my last beer,
I wanted to ask why the hell they were here!

Then to work they began, as I stared there in awe.
Cut open my walls with a tiny old saw.
Strung in the cables, (it sort of looked fun)
And I knew in an instant, "I'm getting a T1!"

Before I could know they were done with their job,
Then they kicked the old man, (who'd passed out like a slob.)
Out the door they all went, the old man went out last,
He smiled, and he grunted, then passed some more gas.

And I heard in the distance, as he faded from sight,
"Merry Christmas you Geek! Now go frag all night!"

PseUDO :-)


Short Title: ComputerUseNet

Newsgroups: rec.humor
Subject: Twas the Night before Christmas in the UseNet
Message-ID: <59rtc9$>
From: Mark Hayworth 
Date: 25 Dec 1996 18:56:09 GMT
Organization: AT&T WorldNet Services

Twas the Night before Christmas in the UseNet
By Mark S. Hayworth

Twas the night before Christmas,    
and all though the newsgroup,
Not a creature was stirring,    
except for a newbie.

He posted his message    
to newsgroups with care,
With the hope that the answer    
soon would be there.

"Please, anyone, ANYONE    
tell me if I
Can make money fast    
if I don't even try.

I've been racking my brain    
for over a week,
Haven't even had time    
to take a leak.

I've searched everywhere,    
I've read the FAQ too.
My one last hope,    
I'm praying, is you.

I'm pretty intelligent, 
not a dumb schmuck,
So I don't know why    
I'm not having much luck."

He hit the Send button    
and went off to bed,
With visions of dollars in his head.

He hoped to learn    
from people so wise,
who'd learn of his plight    
and would sympathize.

When all of a sudden,    
there arose such a clatter
of regular readers    
getting madder and madder.

He ran to his computer    
to see what was up
And was hit by a flame    
as he powered it up!

Steam came from his monitor    
when he read the reply --
He was clueless and dumfounded    
and didn't know why.

"The reason, poor soul,    
you're having no luck,
'scuz you're not only a newbie,    
you're also a dumbf**k.

And IF you were listening,    
you'd already know,
That I've told you three times    
you're lower than low.

You'd have to reach 'Stupid"    
to raise your IQ,
Even a slime mold    
is smarter than you.

So go get a clue,    
you gullible jerk
So the rest of us all    
can get back to work.

And finally I say    
to you, with a wink,
I'd rather eat skunk    
than to smell your stink!"

He read in stunned silence.    
Was this a flame war?!?
He couldn't believe it.    
But wait...there was more...

"I'm hate you, you're ugly,    
and you piss me off.
The sight of your message    
makes us all scoff.

Listen Spamhead,    
get out of my face,
You're not even part    
of the human race.

I hate all the newbies!   
I was never one myself,    
I'm telling you straight!

Now listen up newbie,   
listen up good:
Stay away from this newsgroup --    
it's OUR neighborhood!

You're the scum of the earth    
you despicable pest,
Now get out of our group,    
or we'll sue -- it's no jest!

I've had it to here    
-- I can't take any more!
I'm sending a letter bomb    
to your front door!

And the next person to post    
MMF will be dead."
The message was signed    
by someone named "FAQHead."

His spirits were shattered,    
his high hopes were dashed,
To learn he was thought of    
as a huge ass.

He was heartbroken to learn    
they hated his guts,
and believed in their hearts    
that he was a putz.

He opened another    
reply just in case
A kind-hearted reader    
lurked in this place.

But alas, all there was,    
was much to displease:
"Merry Christmas to all ...    
except the newbies!"

Mark Hayworth
Nov. 17, 1996



Short Title: ComputerVirusWorm

Author:   David K. Bradley
Date: 1998/11/15
Forums: rec.humor.funny.reruns
              "The Worm Before Christmas"
                 by Clement C. Morris

    (a.k.a. David Bradley, Betty Cheng, Hal Render,
             Greg Rogers, and Dan LaLiberte)

Twas the night before finals, and all through the lab
Not a student was sleeping, not even McNabb.
Their projects were finished, completed with care
In hopes that the grades would be easy (and fair).

The students were wired with caffeine in their veins
While visions of quals nearly drove them insane.
With piles of books and a brand new highlighter,
I had just settled down for another all nighter --

When out from our gateways arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my desk to see what was the matter;
Away to the console I flew like a flash,
And logged in as root to fend off a crash.

The windows displayed on my brand new Sun-3,
Gave oodles of info -- some in 3-D.
When, what to my burning red eyes should appear
But dozens of "nobody" jobs.  Oh dear!

With a blitzkrieg invasion, so virulent and firm,
I knew in a moment, it was Morris's Worm!
More rapid than eagles his processes came,
And they forked and exec'ed and they copied by name:

"Now Dasher!  Now Dancer!  Now, Prancer and Vixen!
On Comet!  On Cupid!  On Donner and Blitzen!
To the sites in .rhosts and host.equiv
Now, dash away!  dash away!  dash away all!"

And then in a twinkling, I heard on the phone,
The complaints of the users.  (Thought I was alone!)
"The load is too high!"  "I can't read my files!"
"I can't send my mail over miles and miles!"

I unplugged the net, and was turning around,
When the worm-ridden system went down with a bound.
I fretted.  I frittered.  I sweated.  I wept.
Then finally I core dumped the worm in /tmp.

It was smart and pervasive, a right jolly old stealth,
And I laughed, when I saw it, in spite of myself.
A look at the dump of that invasive thread
Soon gave me to know we had nothing to dread.

The next day was slow with no network connections,
For we wanted no more of those pesky infections.
But in spite of the news and the noise and the clatter,
Soon all became normal, as if naught were the matter.

Then later that month while all were away,
A virus came calling and then went away.
The system then told us, when we logged in one night:
"Happy Christmas to all!  (You guys aren't so bright.)"

Note:  The machines, dancer.cs.uiuc.ed,, etc.  have been renamed deer1, deer2, deer3, etc.
so as not to confuse the already burdened students who use those
machines.  We regret that this poem reflects the older naming scheme
and hope it does not confuse the network administrator at your site.

From the RHF archives as selected by Brad Templeton, Maddi Hausmann and
Jim Griffith.  This newsgroup posts former jokes from the newsgroup
rec.humor.funny.   Visit to browse the RHF pages
and archives on the web.


Short Title: Cowboy1


A Cowboy's Christmas Eve

It was the night before Christmas not a creature was stirring, not even the Pocketmouse
Just like the foreman and his family were down at the main ranchouse
  The cowboys were all snuggled down in their beds
With dreams of new cowboy gear going through their heads
  Dreaming of pickups, saddles, ropes, boots and new bits
When a noise down from down in the corral
  Scared us almost out of our wits
And so surprised that we all were by the clatter
  That we sprang from our bunks to see what was the matter

In the corral was parked an eight-hitch wagon with a yellow bull up front
  We were all thinking, that this was just another cowboy stunt
But the leader of that team caused us all to say, Good Gracious
  Because it was that great rodeo bucking bull named Bodacious
And each of the horse too, after we knew their names
  Had all earned reknown as they played their rodeo games
The entire team and wagon was dressed out in red and white
  But in the next moment we were all treated to an even more amazing sight
Cause down off that wagon jumped a little round man dressed in a Nudies suit
  And it too, was all red and white, from hat to boots
Upon his back he was carrying a big old red sack
  Then he hollered out," Hey guys , come on over and help me unpack"

It wasn't very long before that corral was filled with cowboys, kids, and dogs
  Somebody decided to fire up a few Christmas logs
The Pocketmouse was thinking, my, what a wondrous sight
  As he watched that strange looking Santa Claus pass out gifts, left and right
For all the hands, there were new boots and spurs, a new saddle for the boss
  He even passed out five pounds of oats for each ranch hoss
New shirts and jeans for all, enough for the whole year
  And the Pocketmouse got a box of cheese that filled his heart with cheer
The bosses wife got a set of silver and a set of towels that said his and hers
  the kids got gifts of kid-size saddles, ropes and spurs

When Santa was done handing out each and every gift
  He asked the cowhands , "could you give me a little lift"
So the helped him up on his wagon he said, "I sure hate to run
  But I got a lot of these sacks to empty before tomorrow's sun"
When he was set, he hollered, "open the chute
  Because it's time for this old Cowboy Santa Claus to scoot"
Upward and onward,Bodacious, Kingsway, Skeeter and Wrangler
  Up and away with you Rufus, Cody, Bozo and Papa Smurf
It is time for us to find another piece of this earthly turf
  And they were off, in a flash a stardust that left a bright tail
We all stood and watched an awe as away that team and wagon did sail

Ringing out, was a voice, just before that team and wagon left our sight

J.D. Reitz & The Pocketmouse

I wrote this poem for those of you that believe Rocky and Bullwinkle are real, 
that Natasha and Boris have retired to New York City and that we all can 
learn something from watching Fractured Fairy Tales.
Read more of J. D. Reitz' poems at


Short Title: Cowboy2


Cowboy Christmas

It's the night before Your birthday, Lord
'n I'm celebratin' the cowboy way
I'm thankful for all my blessin's, Lord
'n the way You died for me that day

This ol' boy's far from perfect
I give each day my all
Workin' hard to make a livin'
Farmin' the land with Paw

Workin' from sun-up 'til sundown
For my family I so dearly love
Workin' the land 'n the cattle
'Til the stars shine up above

I'm thankful for all my blessin's, Lord
My family, my house 'n my health
I'm thankful for the simple life
This cowboy don't need wealth

I'm blessed with much more than they eye can see
Ain't got no fancy car or clothes
But when it comes to the true meanin' of Christmas
It's only a true cowboy that knows


Read more of Smitty's poems at


Short Title: CowboyArizona

An Arizona Christmas Eve
Written by Karen EAGLE Moman

'Twas the night before Christmas
When all across the desert
Not a critter was scampering
Not even a ferret.

The boots were beside
The fireplace within,
So "Cowboy Sandy" would
Fill them to the brim.

Lil' cowboys and cowgirls
Were snug in their bunk beds
Where delights of all types
Ran through sun-kissed heads.

Mommie was in her bandanna,
I had removed my Stetson;
We were enjoying
Much needed relaxation,

When out on the sand
There was such a ruckus
I jumped from my bunk
To see what was among us!

Off to the adobe window
I rushed with much chagrin
Wondering if coyotes
Had my chickens again

Across the arroyo
What did I espy!
A conestoga and eight stallions
Driven by that special guy.

The driver was so lean and wiry,
With the reins so very handy,
There was absolutely no doubt
It was "Cowboy Sandy"!

Those horses sped like roadrunners--
They certainly were not lame--
He "geed" and "hawed"
And hailed them by name:

"Giddy-up, Rattlesnake, Scorpion
Gecko and Armadillo
On Saguaro, Manzanita,
Palo Verde, Desert Willow."

"La Luna" was glistening
O'er the African Sumacs,
Showing silver and turquoise
On steeds' traces and tack.

To the top of the knoll
To the top of the dune
"Now haul away, haul away
Haul away soon!"

As cottonwoods leaves
In front of dry winds they flew,
Each horse fought blowing sand
But lost not a shoe.

Over the desert floor
They all gloriously trotted
With the wagon full of gifts
To leave, as had been allotted.

Then in a second
I heard on the ramada
Those same eight stallions
Thundering in with bravada.

I had just left the room
And was turning around
When "Cowboy Sandy" came
Through the door--with a hound!

He was dressed in cowboy garb
From his hat to his boots,
His leather chaps smeared with ashes
From his own cheroots.

His saddlebags he had flung
Over his shoulder,
He was determined to deliver the gifts
Ere the world got a day older.

His eyes, how they glistened!
His temples how sandy
His cheeks were vermilion
His attitude, just dandy.

He was slender and buff
A cowboy of great pride,
Jingling spurs as he worked,
With his friend at his side

The saddlebags soon emptied,
O'er the Mexican tiles he did stride,
Calling "Osito," his dog,
And out the door they did glide.

When on his wagon seat
To his team he gave a command,
They "geed" and "hauled"
And cantered over the sand.

His farewell to the hacienda
On this desert Christmas Eve:
"Feliz Navidad, Amigos,
We must now take our leave!"

Written December 1996
by Karen Louise EAGLE Moman
Tucson, Arizona
(All Rights reserved)


Short Title: CrazyCoolYule1

Subject:      One Crazy Cool Yule--for kids-Grandpa Tucker
From: (OLDCOACH77)
Date:         1997/12/14
Message-ID:   <>
Newsgroups:   rec.arts.poems

From Grandpa Tucker's Rhymes and Tales (For kids, parents and teachers)

One Crazy Cool Yule

"Twas the Night before Christmas" has lots of nice rhymes
But I fear that the tale doesnt fit modern times.
What is a kerchief? My dad wears no cap.
He snores the whole night, no way its a nap.

They tell me that Santa is coming tonight.
Hell be flying in here on a sleigh. Yeah,  RIGHT!
When I was much younger I believed all that stuff,
Now that Im older I know its a bluff.

As this Christmas eve is going so slow
I sneak down the stairs to watch HBO.
Nothing is stirring, its quiet down here.
Security's on so there's nothing to fear.

All of a sudden I hear the floor squeak
Someone is coming, sneakety, sneak.
And then as my heart leaps up to my throat
I see a fat man in a funny red coat.

He stands by the table and looks through the house
And takes from his pocket a tiny gray mouse.
He says, "Ho, Ho Ho, I truly believe,
There must be a mouse in each Christmas eve."

His belt buckle shakes as he laughs, look at that.
My gosh this jolly old guy sure is fat.
He looks up. He sees me and gives a big smile.
Says, "I came to see you. Lets talk for a while.

"Youre one grown up child that doesnt believe
That Santa Claus comes on each Christmas eve.
Youre a big girl. Your minds filled with doubt.
Its simple, without me the joy is left out.

"I remember the time you sat on my knee
A smile on your face, eyes sparkling with glee.
Dont you remember the thrill you felt then?
With a little belief you can feel it again.

"Santa Claus comes for each child at the start.
The rest of their lives I live in their heart.
If you are a youngster or wrinkled old guy
You still can hear sleigh bells ring cross the sky."

He turns as he says,  "Will you please come out here?"
And there on the driveway stand eight cool reindeer.
They all nod to me and then snort in chorus,
"Whos this pretty girl now standing before us?"

I wave as I tell them, "Im Anna May."
As the big burley guy crawls into his sleigh.
He says, "Its my new team, a real with-it crew.
Ill let Captain Cosmos give their names to you."

"Heres E-mail and Hat Rack, Cool Dude and Charley,
Im Cosmos, theres Awesome, Brucie and Narley.
Head Cat is Santa, the North Poles his home,
We see him all year cause we hang out in Nome."

Then they take off and fly to the roof
Tap a short rap and give a "high hoof."
All turn and shout, "Tonight reindeers rule.
The eight of us wish you a crazy cool Yule."

Then Santa shouts, "Its true some things change.
But believe in the basics." As he speeds out of range.
Then I hear repeated, as my willing ears strain,
The words I now love, my favorite refrain.

"Twas the Night before Christmas" has some things outdated
But The Story, dear folks, is not overrated.
Throw open the window, and rejoice in the sight!
 "Happy Christmas to all and to all a good night."

Grandpa Tucker

Copyright  1997 by Bob Tucker


Short Title: CrazyCoolYule2


                            One Crazy Cool Yule

          'Twas the Night before Christmas has lots of nice rhymes
             But I fear that the tale doesn't fit modern times.
                  What is a kerchief? My dad wears no cap.
               He snores the whole night, no way it's a nap.
                 They tell me that Santa is coming tonight.
             He'll be flying in here on a sleigh. Yeah, RIGHT!
             When I was much younger I believed all that stuff,
                  Now that I'm older I know it's a bluff.
                   As this Christmas eve is going so slow
                   I sneak down the stairs to watch HBO.
               I listen for sounds throughout our big house.
                  My mom would go crazy if we had a mouse.
                  All of a sudden I hear the floor squeak
                    Someone is coming, sneakety, sneak.
                 And then as my heart leaps up to my throat
         I see a fat man in a funny red coat. Silly animated mouse
           Grandpa Tucker Rhymes and Tales produced by Bob Tucker
 Copyright 1995-98 Not Just for Kids! and Grandpa Tucker Rhymes and Tales
                maintained by Rosie Winters


Short Title: Cricket

From:         bk772@FreeNet.Carleton.CA (Charles Levy)
Date:         1997/12/17
Message-ID:   <678a3o$>

                  Charles Levy

'Twas the night before Christmas and on rsc,
The punters were fast asleep, fast as can be;
When up in the sky who else should appear,
But jolly St. Nick and his tiny reindeer.
He gave me a smile and a nod of his head,
And asked me to come for a ride on his sled.
"You'll travel all over with me in a night
And if you look closely you'll see such a sight!
Remember, I know if they're good or they're bad -
And I know *you* have been such a *very* good lad! -
So just for a treat I will take you with me,
To see all your colleagues who haunt rsc."

With that, I hopped on and we flew through the sky
Going hither and yon, passing everyone by.
St. Nick was a thorough and competent guide -
I saw *everybody* - not one soul could hide.
I saw POWPAC dreaming while he was asleep,
And doing INCREDIBLE stunts with some sheep!
We made a great detour to fly over Africa
Because Cheeka said he was playing for Botswana,
But when we swooped low to pass over the wicket,
The son of a gun was just playing Ultra Cricket!
A bit further south I saw two rscers
Having a flame war that seemed rather serious -
Des and Dianne were at each other's throats:
Des says she woofs, and Di says he gloats!
This love-hate relationship really is funny,
But I think the real stumbling block could be money -
I'm sure Des would wish that Dianne was his "dear",
But he's scared he can't manage to keep her in beer!
Down under where Aussies all drink Foster's beer
We saw Googler Gazette's editor, Rick Eyre,
And if you should do really well at the wicket,
You just might get into his "This day in Cricket".
His favourite thing is to hold spelling bees -
Especially featuring all kinds of lillees.
And there I saw Christian who took me for a bundle
When I tipped the Pom team the Australians to trundle;
While Josh was still gloating to think that his men
Had defeated poor Atherton's boys once again;
Mad Hamish was sulking like some rebuffed maiden
Because once again they'd ignored poor old Hayden.
And of course Tim and Dom! Those two chaps have it hard,
Being Poms in the middle of Oz's backyard;
But during the Ashes played earlier this year,
Edgbaston presented a chance all too rare
To tweak Aussie noses and have a good gloat -
Too bad Tubby's boys went and sunk England's boat!
Rosebud and Ian and Ron were debating
An umpire's conundrum Sreedhar was relating;
And of course KiwiPom had to get in a word,
But all were agreed what he said was absurd!
Then we hurried along to the subcontinent
Where the Indian fans there are NEVER content
With their cricket team's captain - WHATEVER his name:
(Whoever is Skipper, they treat just the same!)
Ravi, as usual was trashing Azhar,
Which made Rohan wild and all ready for war!
He puffed up himself like a regular trooper -
Until he remembered his main man's now Hooper.
Or is it Dravid? Who can keep track?
Was it not de Silva a little while back?
Oh, no! That was Tin Tin, The Swedish Sri Lankan -
Which reminds me of something: I think that I can
Figure out why Tin Tin thinks ODI's are so grand -
It's because he resides in a far northern land.
Sweden's the Land of the old Midnight Sun,
So of course every day has a loooong time to run;
Which is why he would argue that they were the best,
'Cause *his* one day games last as long as a test!
We flew over England, and what did we see?
Prof Andy mixing maths with cricket history:
He and the Bajan were in argument -
Something about wicket size measurement.
The Bajan proclaimed that the Don did it all
Because when he played the stumps were too small,
Which just goes to prove that today's cricket crop
Are the better by far than the old 30s lot.
(Now does that make sense? Is he saying at last
That Phil S*****s is better than anyone past ??????!!!)
Khirren, as is well known by one and by all
Is madly in love with Windies' Chanderpaul;
While Jackie proclaims as loud as she can:
"Please tell Courtney Walsh I'm his Number One fan!"
John Hall and Nick Bennett were all in a flurry,
Both being great fans of Alec Stewart of Surrey,
Who, if you believe all that Nick has to say,
Is by far the world's premier batsman today.
Of course there's that schizo, Prime Minister Neville -
He used to be Winston - the wily old devil!
Then finally over West Indies we flew,
But sadly in this group, their numbers are few.
In June when Sri Lanka and West Indies clashed,
For one moment it seemed Courtney's boys would be bashed -
Then up went the cry: "Where have Windian fans flown?"
But back came the answer: "To all be it known:
Though Venky's departure our presence has hurt,
We're all right as long as there's Kenny and Kurt!"

Now at last it was time to return home again,
And St. Nick flashed his whip and he loosened his rein.
But just as we passed o'er the outskirts of Boston,
I suddenly remembered something I'd forgotten!
I turned to St. Nick and I asked him to fly
Just over the houses we were passing by.
The sleigh then descended almost to the ground
And in no time at all, what I'd looked for he'd found:
And thus I was able to leave in the chimney
A beer ... which I owed for a bet to Ramaswamy!
(Now maybe he'll shut up and give me some peace
And his taunts about welshing on debts will all cease!)
And so on to Ottawa, my old home town,
Where on my garage roof Nick set the sleigh down.
And when I alighted, he said with a wink:
"We got quite an eyeful tonight, don't you think?"
Then once more the sleigh ... it was up and away,
He had more work to do before Christmas Day.
But ere he departed right out of my sight,

               MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

[Apologies to whoever the heck it was that wrote the


Short Title: CrimePetersonMurder

From: Bo Raxo (
Subject: Scott Peterson Poem 
Newsgroups: alt.true-crime
Date: 2003-07-11 22:15:22 PST 

"Twas the Night Before The Night Before Christmas"
by Bo Raxo
(With apologies to Major Henry Livingston, Jr. )

Twas the night before the night before Christmas,
And all through the Peterson house.
There was but one creature 'astirring,
For this poem, we'll call him the louse.

His wife was laid out on a blue tarp with care,
A blow to the head had put her down there.
Wrapped like a package, but it was no gift,
The louse drove to the Bay, and set her adrift.

The louse picked the worst of times for his purpose.
Pregnant gal, Christmas Eve, 'twas a media circus.
On camera the louse came across as snide,
Then folks found out he had a gal on the side.

His mistress was skanky, while the wife of the louse,
Still looked lovely though big as a house.
To prefer dirt over a complete jewel,
just made him look like more of a fool.

Some think that a powder fuelled his intent.
But the one bag we're sure of was full of cement.
Thinking of Amber, or some other skanker,
He grabbed chain and bucket to make up an anchor.

Launching his boat, he went on his way,
dumping the victim in to the Bay.
His fishing alibi must have seemed sound,
Until it put him where the body was found.

Jail is now where he is livin',
Reading love letters from some real screwed up women.
When not in court, he's forlorn in a cell,
There to stew in hiw own private hell.


Short Title: Croatia

From: AB (
Subject: Night before 
Newsgroups: hr.rec.humor
Date: 2001-12-25 07:41:48 PST 
Twas the night before Bozic and all through the kuca,
the air smelled of spicy sarma and rakija vruca.
By the dimljak the slapice were hung kinda krivo,
In hopes that Sveti Nikola would soon bring me some pivo.
Tata was in his soba and he was snoring pretty hard,
I guess he was tired from stealing the tree from my neighbor's backyard.
Mama was in the basement cooking like a fool,
Adding just the right amount of Vegeta to the juha and fazol.
When out on the lawn there arose such galama,
Tata yelled from his room "Pa, koji je kurac vama!"
There was a knocking on the front door with such a loud barrage,
I yelled through the window "This is a Croatian house...
come in through the garage!"

And standing in the garage right next to my car,
Was my drunk Tetak Joza coming home from the bar.
"Ajde, odi spavat," I told him with might,
Ain't nobody gonna ruin my chances of seeing Sveti Nikola tonight.
About two hours later I heard a noise downstairs,
So I jumped from my krevet to see who was there.
Standing by the tree and eating some leftover pizza,
Was good 'ol Sveti Nikola reeking of homemade sljivovica!
He was all dressed in red and big as an ox,
And wore some brown sandale along with black socks.
Smelling like a gypsy that's been drinking for days,
He wasn't what I expected...I was actually amazed.
"U pizdu mater, kako mrzim ovaj posao," he said,
And then I think he muttered something about his wife 
and how he wished she was dead.

He put the presents under the tree while whistling a Christmas beat,
They were all wrapped up kinda shitty with the paper bags from Ottawa
Street.12 carape for me and 12 for my brother,3 pairs of gace for my dad
and a can of turska kava for my mother.
This Croatian Santa was crooked...he was nothing like the fable,
I should of known it when he swiped my pack of smokes from the table.
I yelled "Hey!" as Sveti Nikola turned around like a car,
Throwing his slapa at me as if it were a ninja star.
The look in his eyes was nothing but fright,
He said "Jebo ti pas mater" and dashed out of sight.
Up through the dimljak I heard a loud shriek,
Sveti Nikola had just farted like some wild bik.
He got in his kaput, made for hladne zime, 
And he yelled at his jelene, ime po ime. 

"Naprijed Marko i Darko, Petar i Ante, 
"Ajde Josip i Nenad, Ivo i Mate..."
And then he yelled, "Ajdemo brzo, moramo poc,"


Matthew Monroe in Richland, WA

Last Modified December 15, 2010