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: Hispanic

Subject:      The Nights Before Christmas [Archive]
From:         jrf@NOSPAMcyberjunkie.com (JRF)
Date:         1997/12/07
Message-ID:   <66f02l$2hu$1@hirame.wwa.com>
Newsgroups:   alt.humor,alt.jokes,alt.tasteless.jokes,rec.humor

- The Night Before Chreemas, Man -
  (Aka The Mexican Version)

The night before Chreemas, on Thorsday I theenk,
I go to cantina to geet me a dreenk.
I dreenk saam tequila, I dreenk eet too fast,
Preety damn queek, I fall on my ass.

I peek myself up and go home to bed,
I pool the cobija up ober my head.
Early next morning, or late een the night,
I heer such damn recket, I theenk eet's a fight.

I geet outta bed, I don feel very well,
My head ees too beeg, eet hort me like hell.
I go to the weendow, I don believe what I see,
A pot-bellied greengo, as plain as can be.

I looook at heez ropa, ees all colored red,
He got heem some chivos tied on to a sled.
I yella and I holler, "Hey, move your fat ass,
Your chivos--they chit on my grass!"

He torn to heez goats, he say just one word,
And them damn chivos chomp in the air like a bord.
They corcle around, and then queek as a mouse,
He land that damn sled on top of my house.

They chaking their horns and stomping hees hoof,
I theenk they damn chore play hell with my roof.
I heer theze ole man chout loud and clear,
"What the hell, Rodriquez, ain't no cheemney up here...

No door, no weendow, nothing but air,
How I gon geev you theze goverment welfare?"
Then right away theze Rodriquez see---
He gon get heemself something for free.

So he says to the greengo, "Please come een senior,
Do come on down and use the front door."
So, he come een the house, and upon heez broad back,
He is carry one hell of beeg gony sack.

He puut theze beeg sack down on the floor,
And start pooling out comida galore.
He pool out tortillas, tamales and ham,
He pool out a cheekin and haff of a lamb.

He pool out cervesa and a bottle of wine,
I cannot believe that theze eez all mine!
I'm theenking, "Rodriquez, you locky by heck,
Theze chore as hell beats unemployment sheck."

So he chakes out heez boles and dreenk some of my wine,
And cosses hees chivos to get them een line.
He cosses and hollers, he knows every one,
"Chingow, Cabron, Yo, Son of a gon."

That ole man he know how to puut on a chow,
Trying to make them damn chivos get up and go.
At last he get them to chom een the sky,
And the last time I see heem, he preety damn high.

He going away and the last theeng I heeer,
"IF YOU VOTE FOR THEM LIB'RALS, I BE BACK NEXT YEAR!"
 

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Short Title: Hockey(Bruins)

'Twas the Night Before Christmas
(For the 1996-1997 Bruins)

  © 1996 Alison Luperchio
  
   This work may be distributed not-for-profit as long as the copyright
   information remains attached, but please inform the author.

'Twas the night before Christmas, and in the FleetCenter
Not a player was skating, the fans could not enter.
The skates had been placed in the lockers with care
In the hopes they'd air out while the players weren't there.

Ranford and Bailey were relaxing off-ice
Asking Santa for shut-outs that would be oh-so-nice.
The forwards and defense were all telling stories
And tales of the days of their previous glories.

When out on the Commons there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
I ran to the living room, I had to see this--
I knew it was a sight Channel 5 wouldn't miss.

The lights of the city shone down on the snow
It glittered, and sparkled, and gave off a glow.
But lo, what was that, could it be a mirage?
The new Fox Puck Truck, with its whole entourage!

With a bespectacled coach, so pensive and dapper
I knew in a moment it must be Steve Kaspar.
More rapid than slapshots his curses they came
And he whistled and shouted and called players by name:

        "Now Odgers!  Now Bourque!
        Now Oates and McCleary!
        On Tallas!  On Heinze!
        On Rohloff and Sweeney!
        To the top of the circle!
        To the front of the net!
        Now put it away!
        You can score a goal yet!"

And as with the pigeons that you'd swear couldn't fly,
Just before you step on them, take off for the sky.
So all of a sudden, the truck just took flight!
I couldn't believe it, it soared like a kite!

And then, oh my god, that was _my_ house on TV
And Dale Arnold and Gord Kluzak were laughing with glee.
As I clicked off the tube, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Steve Kaspar came with a bound.

He was dressed in his suit, that tan one you know,
And his clothes were all covered with ashes and snow.
There were lots of pucks in his over-the-shoulder sack,
And it looked like the weight just might break his back.

Not a smile in sight, he was wearing a frown,
It looked to me like he wanted to leave old Beantown.
He was grim and severe, like a typical coach.
(Which only gets worse as the play-offs approach.)

He spoke not a word, but went straight to the tree,
Putting new pucks and sticks around haphazardly.
And turning to me, he broke a small grin,
And with a grimace he left the way he came in.

He sprang to the truck, gave the driver a hail,
And away they all flew like the Fox comet tail.
But I heard him exclaim, ere they drove out of sight,
"HAPPY SKATING TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD FIGHT."

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Short Title: Hockey(Kings)

From: Corey Dyke (coreyincalgary@hotmail.com)
Subject: merry chrismas 
Newsgroups: alt.sports.hockey.nhl.la-kings
Date: 2003-12-24 00:37:48 PST 
 
Twas the night before Xmas and all through the house
all the kings fans were stirring, as much as a mouse.
Cech was in the hospital, nursing a sore lil hip
Deader is walkin in circles, laughin at our lil Tripp.

With vizzy in the hospital, and Alli skatin free,
Frolov dumpin pucks, and Straka sayin 'oh please'
Huets gettin time, and we're all feelin good
With Cammi smackin pucks
And Luc's smackin P's

The kings are doin great
and we're feelin stress free
cuz Cech he ain't in net
and Huet's flyin free.

Palffy is da man
he's pointin left and right
if Stumpel he can't pass
then we're havin a bad night.

Let's hope for a good year
and not to be so stressed
if we can get some nettin
with that bastard Cech in net.

: )
C D
Merry Christmas everyone


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Short Title: Hockey(MapleLeafs)

From: Salzy (bsalzy@hotmail.com)
Subject: A few days early but... 
Newsgroups: alt.sports.hockey.nhl.tor-mapleleafs
Date: 2001-12-22 18:57:34 PST 
 
Twas the night before Christmas, and all through Leaf land,
Not a creature was stirring, not even Bland.
And Lars was nestled all snug in his bed,
While visions of Antropov danced in his head.

Adam was spotted somewhere downtown,
Working a corner in a black evening gown.
kjk was dreaming of his favourite toy-
A poseable figure of Badly Drawn Boy.

Chewy and Van had gone out for the eve,
With plenty of babe-magnet tricks up their sleeve.
Brett Todd and Rich Elton were meeting them there,
And Gorefan - with a pretty pink bow in his hair.

Patrick Lee also wanted to go,
But couldn't drive through the two feet of snow.
And young Sammy was turned away at the door,
His fake driver's licence read Forty-four.

And I looking sharp in my new Flyers cap,
Had just sat down for a big turkey crap.
When out on the driveway a loud horn did blare,
I sprang from the throne to see who was there!

Away to the front door I flew like Gagne,
Clean and zipped up, I was fast on my way.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
My old buddy Owl with a two-four of beer!

Without hesitation I threw open the door,
I said "come on in, you Leaf-lovin' whore!".
He approached the front step and a little he stumbled,
"Them's fightin' words!" he slurred and he mumbled.

I reached out my hand and he shook it tight,
"All the best to you on this cold winter's night"
And what of the beers? I put them on ice-
Only 20 in fact, 'cause 2-fistin' is nice.

After 5 or 6 rounds of 2 at a time,
I noticed ole Owl was feeling quite fine.
His cheeks were all rosy, his eyes were aglaze,
He was sure to be feeling this night for days.

His nose was a giant Pat Quinn-like red hue,
And his breath, to be blunt, well, it smelled like poo.
Doubt mine smelled like roses, so I shouldn't talk,
And it was getting close to three o'clock.

I said "time to go, Owl" like so many times before,
It was a real struggle carrying him to the door.
He mumbled the classic drunk "I love you, man"
Then tromped through the snow to get back in his van.

I knew in his state that he wouldn't get far,
Especially when he climbed in the back of my car.
He started to yell from the back seat,
While out the side window protruded his feet.

"On Cujo, on Corson, but not Domi, he's Hitler!"
"On Keon, on Gilmour, on Wendel and Sittler."
When the car didn't move, he just shook his head,
Then he nodded off and the car was his bed.

I turned to the sky and stared at the stars,
Thinking of all the Leaf fans sleeping in cars.
So I shouted aloud - from deep in my heart,
"Happy Christmas to all, yes, even the fart."


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Short Title: HockeyLockout

Newsgroups: alt.sports.hockey.nhl.pit-penguins 
From: "§¦«Penguin Claus»¦§" 
Date: Sat, 25 Dec 2004 23:19:54 -0500 
Subject: 'Twas A Locked-Out Christmas 

Account of a lockout at Christmas
Dec. 23, 2004
By Wes Goldstein, SportsLine.com Staff Writer
http://cbs.sportsline.com/nhl/story/8030968

'Twas the night before Christmas and there was no NHL
For the fans of the sport, it was a real living hell
The owners and players were in fight to the finish
Unfazed, it seemed, watching their product's value diminish

It was a long time in coming, this full meltdown on ice
But no surprise at all, neither side ever plays nice
All along the warring parties had only themselves in mind
Making a fair solution impossible to find

So arenas remained dark, the league's future in doubt
As billionaires and millionaires stood firm, battling for clout
They were given ideas, yet not one did they heed
Of course that's to be expected from those motivated by greed

Clearly management's ineptitude created this mess
Without common sense, or restraint on largesse
Now players are being asked to take away that pain
They may fight it forever, but there's nothing to gain

Nearly half the league's best are overseas in a pack,
Most playing for a pittance, losing career time they won't get back
They say they'll never give in to a salary cap
But if not, they might fall right off the map

The truth is the NHL has so much to change
Even more on the ice than in its salary range
The game must reach out to more fans and to grow
Adding more excitement, would be the best way to go

Offense and flair are what the league now craves
Those kinds of things will earn it raves
A real, true partnership is the road to take
So get with the program Gary and Bob, for everyone's sake

Make a deal that works, and get the season on track
And hope that the fans never look back
Let them have what they've wanted, the game at its best
To see if their favorites can handle the test

Like the Bolts did last year led by Brad and St. Louis
And don't forget Iginla and his upstarts from Calgary
Give the greats of the game what they deserve, a proper goodbye
Guys like Messier and Stevens and of course, Stevie Y

It can't be that hard when everyone shares the same goal
To get the game of hockey on a permanent roll
It's up to both sides now to make the right call
But in the meantime from us, a Merry Christmas to all 


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Short Title: HogansHeroes

   Author:   Archbishop Dave uh... "Smith"
   Email: archbishop@nokilli.com
   Date: 1998/12/15
   Forums: alt.tv.hogans-heroes

Merry Christmas!

'Twas Krystalnacht, the night before Christmas,in Nazi Germany.
It was the second World War they'd started this century;

Those weren't cookies baking in their ovens,
but hell, the Huns had no cares,
They were secure in the knowledge,
that world domination soon would be theirs.

Hitler Youth were nestled all snug in their beds,
Dreaming of Jews, Homosexuals, and Catholics with bullets in their heads;

German fathers polished Panzers for the 'morrow's blitzkrieg,
While blue-eyed Aryan mothers bred children free of ethnic diversity.

They rolled over Poland, backtracked to the River Rhine,
Where they laughed as they side-stepped France's Maginot Line;

The frogs might have well have been armed with pointy sticks for the
"fight" that they fought,
'Cause once the Huns broke a Louvre window, the yellow spine-less
Frenchmen all fighting did stop.

The rotten-toothed pasty-white limeys got theirs at Dunkirk,
Chased from an entire continent, they couldn't handle the work.

The Krauts were goose-stepping toward London, when who should appear,
Why a dashing American flyboy taking orders from Papa Bear.

Colonel Hogan leveled Dresden and Dueseldorf, and skipped past Berlin,
But it was over Stalag 13 that he brought his plane in;

A Nazi POW kamp run by the faint-hearted Colonel Klink,
A monocle wearing Kommandant who hated to think.

There was a limey named Newkirk, a frog named LaBeau,
And since it was the '60s a token Negro.
(Ivan Dixon played Kinchloe until until he got bored.
He went on to do American Playhouse and won an Emmy award).

A Sergeant named Carter rounded out Hogan's crew,
(He went on to host Liar's Club and sank from the public's view).

With the help of the good Nazi, fat friendly Schultz,
Hogan's Heroes had no use for a Josef Mengele elf.

They foiled the Gestapo ratfink Major Hochstetter,
And blew up the Reichstaff car of General Burkholter;

Took Sergeant Schultz bar-hopping in Heidelburgh,
Who wisely saw nothing and avoided trial at Nuremburgh;

Hogan slept with Heidi and Helga, the secretaries of Colonel Wilhem Klink,
Bombed their strategic places, then left with a smirk and a wink;

With the help of John Carpenter he video-taped himself getting laid,
But in a Scottsdale apartment too long he had stayed;

It was there in Winfield Place Apartment 138,
That an assassin with a tripod sealed this womanizer's fate;

His head, it was bludgeoned, his neck wrapped with bow,
A June 29, 1978 death, Bob Crane he did know;

Not another Christmas will Superdad have,
but if he was living and with us here today,
He'd want me to wish you Yuletide Greetings -- so have a swell day.

----------------
Written by me, Dave Smith, 1994.
http://www.nokilli.com/hogan/xmas.html

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Short Title: HollyClaus

from http://www.spring-tree.com/christmas.html

          'Twas the night before Christmas, and I couldn't sleep.
                My sister was snoring too loudly--the creep!
                  So in my nightie, with socks on my feet,
             Skipped out to the kitchen to see what was to eat.
                                      
          I was stuffing down cookies when I heard someone humming
             The theme song from STAR WARS--someone was coming!
                Then from the chimney, I heard a loud crash,
            And out of the fireplace fell a girl (and some ash).
                                      
              "Oh, hi," she said calmly, dripping snow water,
              "I'm Holly St. Nicholas--Santa's granddaughter."
            She was dressed in old jeans and had curly red hair,
          And her coat that read "North Pole is Cool" had a tear.
                                      
             "Where's Santa?" I asked. "I hope he's all right."
                "Oh, yes," Holly said. "He's on TV tonight!
             Johnny Carson asked gramps to guest-host his show.
                  He needed exposure. He needed the dough.
                                      
                His income from visiting stores wasn't good,
               So he acquired an agent. He's gone Hollywood!
           He's in CHRISTMAS LAGOON--co-starring Brooke Shields,
              Next is SMOKEY AND SANTA with cute Sally Field."
                                      
            Then Holly Claus groaned as she looked in her sack.
               "This bag is no feather--my poor aching back!"
             "Some oranges and walnuts," I cried. "Is that IT?"
              She shrugged and said, "Yep. Inflation has hit."
                                      
          The she looked at her watch and said,"Oh, no! I'm late.
                I must be in Oshkosh at twelve fifty-eight."
           I looked at the reindeer. "Are these the well-known?"
             Holly said, "No--they have careers of their own."
                                      
                  "Comet and Cupid dance on Lawrence Welk.
              Dasher's in nature films, passing off as an elk.
            Fly! is a rock group with Prance, Dance, and Vixen.
             Donner does nightclubs with impressions of Nixon.
                                      
        "I've named them these nice new ones after my favorite men!"
            She sprang to her sleigh. "Time to call them again!
                  On Redford, Travolta, and Barry Manilow!
                    On Pacino,DeNiro, and John McEnroe!
                                      
           "To the corner split-level, to the new shopping mall!
                                      
                   Dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
           Then I heard her exclaim as she lurched out of sight,
             "Merry Christmas to all and to all a Good night!"
                                      
                   Judy Carlson, Seventeen Magazine,1981

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Short Title: HomeBrew

Subject:      Home Brewer's Night Before Christmas
From:         pata@aa.net (Pat Anderson)
Date:         1997/12/07
Message-ID:   <348aab57.48028617@news.aa.net>
Newsgroups:   rec.crafts.brewing


Thought you would all enjoy this - apologies if it has been posted before, don't
know where it came from...

            A Homebrewer's Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,
Every creature was thirsty, including the mouse...
The steins were empty, and the bottles were too
The beer had been drunk with no time to brew.

My family was nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of Christmas Ale foamed in their heads.
Mama in her kerchief lamented the drought,
She craved a pilsner and I, a stout.

When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the kitchen, I flew like a flash,
Opening the door with a loud bang and crash!

I threw on the switch and the lights, all aglow,
Gave a luster of mid-day to the brew-pot below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear
But Gambrinus himself, the patron of beer.

With a look in his eye, so lively and quick,
He said, "You want beer? Well, here, take your pick."
More rapid than eagles, his recipes came
As he whistled and shouted and called them by name.

"Now, Pilsener! Now, Porter! Now, Stout and Now Maerzen!
On, Bitter! On, Lager! On, Bock and On Weizen!"
"To the top of the bottles, the short and the tall,
 Now brew away, brew away, and fill them all!"

As dried hops before a wild hurricane fly,
And then, without warning, settle down with a sigh,
So towards the brew-pot, the ingredients flew,
Malt extract, roasted barley and crystal malt, too.

And then in a twinkling, I heard it quite plain,
The cracking open of each barley grain.
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
Into the kitchen, he came with a bound.

He was dressed like a knight, from his head to his toes,
With an old family crest adorning his clothes.
 A bundle of hops, he had flung on his back,
 And the brewing began when he opened his pack.

 His hops were so fragrant! His barley, how sweet!
The adjuncts included Munich malt and some wheat.
The malted barley was mashed in the tun,
Then boiled with hops in the brew-pot 'till done.

Excitement had me gnashing my teeth,
As the sweet smell encircled my head like a wreath.
Beer yeast was pitched, both lager and ale,
The wort quickly fermented, not once did it fail.

It was then krausened, or with sugar primed,
And just being bottled when midnight had chimed.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know, I'd be shortly in bed.

He spoke not a word but kept on with his work,
And capped all the bottles, then turned with a jerk.
And laying a finger alongside his nose,
He belched (quite a burp!) before he arose.

Clean-up was easy with only a whistle,
And away the mess flew, like the down on a thistle.
And I heard him exclaim, 'ere he left me the beer,
"Merry Christmas to all! and a HOPPY New Year!"


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Short Title: Homeless

Subject:      'Twas the night before Christmas
From:         Anitra Again 
Date:         1997/12/24
Message-ID:   <34ebff8f.91487419@nntp.stc.net>
Newsgroups:   alt.org.food-not-bombs,alt.thebird,alt.thebird.hippie

Light seasonal doggerel, ALF version:
-------------------------------------

'Twas the night before Christmas
And all down the street
Not a creature was stirring,
Even cops on the beat.

Our belongings were wrapped
Round our bodies with care;
Our sugarplums were dreams
For our foodsacks were bare;

While I on the heating-grate
And Pa, canvas-wrapped
Had just settled down
For a cold winter's nap,

When out in the night
There arose such a clatter
We both sprang bolt upright
To see what was the matter.

The streetlights shone wan
On the car-mangled snow.
You could scarce see the moon
For the city's sick glow,

Then out of the gloom and the glum -
Oh my Lord!
Came a bald toothless man
In a battered old Ford.

He stopped right in front
Of our part of the street.
We all gathered round
Although noone would speak.

He twinkled, and everyone
Relaxed with a sigh;
Then he turned round to pull out
Sacks and sacks, piled high!

"Howdy-do, folks," he told us,
"My name is Joe.
My Ruth and I never had kids,
Don'tcha know.

"Last winter, God said,
It was Ruth's time to go;
But it wasn't mine yet -
I always was slow.

"I just had to find someone
To share Christmas with me.
So here I am, folks,
And now - here you be."

We ate roasted turkey,
Stuffing and all,
Chopped dates and almonds
Wrapped up in a ball.

There were presents for everyone
And jugs of hot cider.
We opened one at a time
And toasted each other.

Then we all toasted him
And we all searched our bags.
Yvonne gave him a placemat
She'd woven from rags.

Jerry gave him the seagull
He'd whittled one day
From an old broom handle
Someone threw away.

With each treasure we gave him
We watched him glow brighter,
Then we brightened too.
Soon the whole street was warmer.

Then with backslaps and hugs
In the dawn of the Day,
He folded back in his Ford
And faded away.

As the morning of Christmas
Rose higher and higer
We stood in a circle
Round our own inner fire.

Christmas is what you make it,
Wherever you are.
Merry Christmas to all,
And to all a good year!

***

Happy Hanukkah, Merry Christmas, Blessed Ramadan, Joyful Kwanzaa,
Merry Solstice -- may you enjoy it with a warm community, whatever it
is!
_________
WRITE ON!
~~ Anitra
http://www.speakeasy.org/~anitra/projects.html for a full list of websites
and webrings because if I list them all here, you will be SO mad at me
...
-Food Not Bombs List     fnb-l@tao.ca
-distributing food in opposition to violence
-archive: http://www.tao.ca/~fnbtor/fnb-l/
-active cities: http://webcom.com/peace
-send '(un)subscribe fnb-l'  to majordomo@tao.ca
posted from the Food Not Bombs maillist

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Short Title: Homeowner

Originally published in:
The Durham Herald-Sun
Sunday, December 24, 2000
Section E, page 1

'Twas the Night Before ...
by Emily Sue Briggs of Roxboro, NC

Twas the night before Christmas and I was finally in bed
I'd checked all the locks and looked in on the kids
The house was quieter than it had been in days
Even the mouse was asleep in his cage

I'd hung up the stockings
I had bought new ones in January this year
I caught them at half price
That made them more dear
Dad was already snuggled and asleep in the bed
He was expecting toys, the same as the kids

I was looking forward to a good sleep
When I heard such a noise
I thought the kids had awoke and were playing outdoors.
I went to the window, naturally it was stuck
I huffed and I puffed and finally gave up.

The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow
Shone the mixture of pollutants from the
power plant next door
When what to my eyes should appear?
But the main man Santa and his reindeer
I couldn't believe that this was St Nick
Until I heard him call them by name.
Now Dasher, now Dancer, now Prancer and Vixen!
On Comet, on Cupid, on Donner and Blitzen!

And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each overweight hoof
I noticed the sleigh was empty, so then
I ran to the staircase and saw Santa drop in.
I forgot to turn the gas logs off
And his pants were on fire
He was moving fast now, toys flew everywhere

Santa's eyes now teary from smoke
His dimples covered with soot
His cheeks red from embarrassment and also his nose
I wished I'd had my camera to capture that pose.

He was not speaking out loud but mumbling under his breath
He knew he had to get busy with such little time left
The stockings were still hanging with care
But not as clean as when I had hung them there.

And laying a finger aside of his nose
He called out 10-4 and back up the chimney he rose.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle
And away they all flew like the race cars at Bristol.
And as his eyes met mine as he raced out of sight.
"Turn my mess into Home Owners and have a good night."

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Short Title: Horror

Subject:      Christmas with Satan
From:         "DigiMike" 
Date:         1997/12/20
Message-ID:   <67ha7c$1j90$1@newssvr04-int.news.prodigy.com>
Newsgroups:   alt.horror

My very own Christmas poem. >:)>

The Night before Christmas
By Mike Reed

Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, except the dead mouse
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there

The children were tied and gagged in their beds
Where visions of bugs burrowed through their heads
And mamma in her body bag and I in my cap
Had just eaten some brains before a long winters nap

Where out on the lawn there arose such a clatter
I got my hatchet to see what was the matter
Away to the window I flew like a flash
Threw aside the bodies and drew up the sash

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave a blood-like luster to the corpses below
When what to my gouged-out eyes should appear
But a miniature sleigh and eight gutted reindeer

With an eaten away driver so shiny and slick
I knew in a moment it mustve been St. Nick
More rapid than ravens his coursers they came
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name:

Now, Shot!  Now, Rot!
Now, Putrid and Death!
On, Moldy!  On, Wormy!
On, Torn and Wreath!

To the top of the porch!
To the top of the wall!
To the top of the mortuary!
Now dash away all!

As dry heads that before the wild death cart fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, heave to the sky
So up to the housetop the corpses they flew
With a sleigh full of dead babies, St. Nicholas, too

And then in a thumping I heard on the roof,
The sliding and pawing on each little stumped hoof
As I drew in my head and was stumbling around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a thump sound

He was dressed in tanned flesh from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with bloodspots and soot
A bundle of dead elves he flung on his back,
And he looked like a wolf about to cannibalize his pack

His eyes - how they chilled!
His dimples, how scary!
His cheeks rotting from his face,
His nose ripe like a berry!

His gaping mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as flaky as snow
The stump of a finger he held tight in his teeth,
And the blood, it encircled his face like a wreath

He had a broad face and a hollow round belly,
That emptied out on the ground like a bowl full of jelly
He was chubby and plump, A right hellish old zombie
And I laughed when I smelt him in spite of myself

I gouged out his eyes and twisted his head,
Until I knew I had nothing to dread
He spoke not a word but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings then fell with a jerk

And reattaching his face to his nose,
And giving a nod up the chimney he rose
He sprang to his sleigh to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew through the sharp tearing thistles

But I heard him exclaim ere he drove out of sight,
Hand me a baby to munch on, its going to be a long night
____________________________________________
"Get that damn screwdriver out of my head!"
    -Head Zombie, ROTLD2
"What are you doing?!"   "I'm kicking my ass!"
    -Jim Carrey, Liar Liar
____________________________________________


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Short Title: Horse

Subject:      Everyday Is Christmas Here At This Old Farm
From:         "Donna Guyton" 
Date:         1997/12/19
Message-ID:   <01bd0cb7$21967960$af3a74cc@spiver>
Newsgroups:   rec.equestrian

EVERYDAY IS CHRISTMAS HERE AT THIS OLD FARM

'Twas the night before Christmas
And the barn was so still
The horses were a'sleep'n
On last summer's hay field

The stars were a'shine'n
And the moon was so bright
It's another wonderful and marvelous
Christmas eve night

The foal in the far stall
Heard me tip toeing in
To check on my critters
And give God thanks for them

Her breath was like white smoke
Circle'n around
When she nickered....every horse for miles
Woke with a joyful sound

I petted them all
And I gave them a hug
Each one is a blessing
From God up above

When I look upon each face
Here inside this barn
I know everyday is Christmas
Here at this old farm.........

-----------------------------------------
Don't forget your horse on Christmas Day
For all the joy they bring us...
we never could repay!

I hope that everyone every horse has a safe, happy, and joyful Christmas!

Donna Guyton (along with my sidekicks Aces Wild, Magics Romeo, Black Magic,
Strictly Business, Midnights Target, Miss Nifty, Royal Crown, Step Aside,
Marvels Wonder, and Jus' Watch Me!)
Guyton Stables, SC

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Short Title: HorseraceGambling

From: TurfNSport (turfnsport@aol.com)
Subject: Twas the Night Before The Ultra Pick 6 
Newsgroups: rec.gambling.racing
Date: 2002-12-12 14:31:50 PST 

Twas the Night Before the Ultra Pick 6

Twas the night before the Fix 6 when all through the barn
Not a horseplayer was stirring, not even Chris Harn
Cash was added to their phone accounts with care
In hopes of fixing the Ultra Pick 6 on a dare

Derrick, Glen and Chris were all nestled snug in their beds
While visions of millions danced in their heads
While the rest of us stayed up late studying and 'capping
Little did we know the fix was in and Fix 6 Kids were napping

When out on the turf there arose such a clatter
How much we bet really didn't matter
Away to the betting window we flew like a flash
We tore up our tickets, Volponi turning them to ash

The tote board lit up with six winning tix
How could this be we thought, is it a fix?
Of course not said the clueless Prez at Catskills
I know the bloke he said, and isn't it a thrill?

Derrick Davis, could he be that good a  'capper?
Now we know he is heading for the crapper
His buddy Chris changed the tix after the bell
Now the Fix 6 Kids are heading for a cell

Now Autotote! Now AmTote! and United Tote!
That sinking feeling, could it be your boat?
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!

We know now that what you did was wrong
Your computers had the sophistication of Pong
Uncashed tickets, Pick 4's and Pick 6
The Frat Boys apparently knew all the tricks

Millions were taken from our very pockets
Autotote exec's names should be on the court dockets
But they take no blame, and they are out of sight
They don't seem too worried about the horseplayer's plight

The NTRA is looking into this mess
But what they find is anyone's guess
Are there others out there like the Frat Boys?
If there are, we may never hear any of the noise

As a Pick 6 player, I have no Christmas cheer
I have spent too much time crying in my light beer
The hops and barley do little for my thirst
Why didn't I think of the Fix 6 first?

What can we do now we feel so low
Other than head to church and play Bingo
"We've be hosed!" can be our motto
Maybe we are better off playing the Lotto

Happy Holidays!
www.turfnsport.com


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Short Title: HorseTreatment

From: Sigen 3 (sigen3@aol.combridle)
Subject: Justice for horses/The Night Before Christmas 
Newsgroups: rec.equestrian
Date: 2002-12-20 18:56:48 PST 
 
Horse Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, but my manger was bare.
My coat was still matted, least the spots that weren't bare.
My thirst showed no mercy on this day of the Lord.
My stall was still filthy, manure covering the floor.

The night's stars were brilliant, in the clear sky they shined.
Peace and love filled the world, almost all, but not mine.
Here it was cold and hunger the rule.
The seasons sweet blessings weren't shared by the cruel.

My owner was comfortable, snug in his bed.
He didn't care that I hadn't been fed.
When out in the pasture, what should I hear?
But the sound of a sleigh and the hoofs of reindeer!

I peered out the stall there arose quite a clatter,
As Santa strode in to see what was the matter.
I heard your poor suffering, even from afar.
Your owner doesn't deserve you, the great horse you are!"

The scowl on his face didn't fit the old elf.
His anger had gotten him quite beside himself.
He threw open the stall door and then in a flash,
Had my rack filled with hay and my feeder with mash!

"You enjoy this," he said as he strode to the house,
"I'm going to stir up much more than a mouse!"
As I munched I looked out to see what would occur.
Santa entered the house and he caused quite a stir!

He grabbed my owner by the back of his shirt.
And pulled him to the barn, where he stopped with a jerk.
"This horse is God's creature, he's been placed in your care!"
Santa fairly shouted, his wrath filled the air.

"You have used and abused him, for far, far too long.
And what's worse, you don't even think that it's wrong!" 
"I've got your long wish list right here in my coat"
"You want toys and gizmos, a new car and a boat!"

"But your gift from me this year is better by far,
Then any new toys, or a shiny new car!"
My owner's eyes grew wide and filled up with fear,
He seemed quite afraid of what next he would hear.

Santa took a deep breath, then said with a sigh.
"You shall switch lives with this sweet little guy!"
Then laying his finger aside of his nose,
He winked at me, smiling, and then switched our roles.

I was no longer a horse, all battered and thin,
But stood on two feet, wearing a grin!
The horse in the stall neighed loudly in protest.
Santa just laughed and shook his head as he left.

I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight.
"Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!"
So I watered my horse, and cleaned out his stall.
Amazed that there are seasons blessings after all!


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Short Title: HotWheels

Subject:      Hotwheels Merry Xmas Poem
From:         Ron Lohr 
Date:         1997/12/24
Message-ID:   <34A0E1D1.6021@uoguelph.ca>
Newsgroups:   rec.toys.cars

Hotwheels 1997

Twas the night before Christmas,
I was scanning the shelves,
In hopes of finding,
One or two FE twelves.

The Dark Riders were hung,
On the middle pegs with care,
In hopes that someone
Would notice them there.

The kids were at home,
All nestled in bed,
While visions of Scooters,
Danced in their head.

I suddenly wondered,
As I started to leave,
Why I was still searching,
This being Christmas Eve.

I turned to walk away when
there arose such a clatter.
I turned to look,
To see what was the matter.

 A stockboy had come,
And knocked over the display,
In his haste to restock,
For a sale Boxing Day.

A couple of new cases,
Were among the debris,
And they were unopened,
It was plain to see.

I calmly walk back,
To render some aid,
In hopes that a good,
Find would be made.

I picked up Darkriders,
And a lone Power Rocket,
Eager to part with
The money in my pocket.

The Stockboy thanked me,
And I asked if I might,
Have a peek at his cases,
Before I left for the night.

So he opened them carefully,
And then our eyes met,
The first car I saw was,
An old Pizza Vette.

Street Eaters, Dark Riders,
I started to cuss,
When suddenly I discovered,
A VW Bus!

I grabbed it,  then looked,
At the wheels of the Vette,
They were seven spoke silver,
I started to sweat.

A Mod Bod Camaro,
Had seven spokes as well,
A three spoke Rescue Transport,
I wanted to yell!

The second case there,
Suffice it to say,
Was packed in a very,
Identical way.

Now leave it to Zellers,
To have a Mod Bod Hummer.
They have these old case's, 'cause,
They don't stock all summer.

On Zellers and K-Mart
On Eatons, On Bay,
On Canadian Tire,
On Sears, and Bi-way.

No T.H.'s to be found here,
No L.E.'s no sets,
In Canada the regular issues,
Is all that one gets.

No scalpers or crowds of
People on a bender,
Or even an unscrupulous
Flea Market vendor.

So I collect up my finds,
And I take a last look,
To make sure that a Bus,
Is still on the hook.

I pay for my Hotwheels,
And step out of the Mall,
And yell out to you people,
"Merry Christmas to all!"

Have a great holiday!
Ron


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Short Title: HouseRenovation

From: Wind Dancer (trulyyours9@hotmail.com)
Subject: MY night before christmas 
Newsgroups: alt.happy.valley
Date: 2002-12-24 17:18:28 PST 

YEY! Workers are /finally/ gone.  Here's my rendition of the "Night before
Christmas" ala Renovation of my House.

THE GRRFUL NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
not a worker was stirring, so I couldn't grouse.
The stockings were off each cold little foot,
in hopes that some heating would soon be afoot.

My cats were all nestled among one another,
while I cursed about the cold being a Mother.
And Mama three layers, and I in my four,
had just settled our brains, we knew there was more.

When out on the roof there arose such a clatter,
I didn't spring from anything; I knew what was the matter.
To the window, I glanced with a flash,
my gaze got there in time to see the electrical crash.

The windower laid on his breast in the new fallen snow,
gave a groan of pain we heard from below,
when, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
an Ambulence, headed by a man named "Deer"!

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it was more than a nick.
More rapid than eagles, his assistants they came,
and he whistled and shouted and called them by name:

"Now Mladen! Now Peter!
Now, Serge and Boris!
On, Kay! On, Claire!
Who's in charge here?!
To the top of the porch!
To the top of the wall!
Get outta d'way! Get outta d'way!
Get outta d'way all!"

Mama and I stood aghast, and to the window we did fly,
when they meet with an obstacle, crashed down on North Rye.
so up to the lightpole, the ambulence, it flew,
With Peter and Mladen, Serge and Boris too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard from the roof
a crackle, a hiss, and a quick little snoof.
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
down the eaves came the squirrel with a bound.

So this is what caused the trouble afoot,
this little squirrel and his acorn as loot.
He scampered away to take to the tree,
looking cute and fluffy...and mildly guilty.

A week later, the squirrel was missing,
the roofers returned, and Mike and Mama were kissing.
Carpet was better this Christmas than mistletoe,
and our paint was as white as the new-fallen snow.
The heat from the furnace stopped our chattering teeth,
and even Peter looked jolly, his cast like a wreath.
We stretched out on the new floor for a moment or two,
then ordered in pizza, and kicked off our shoes.

And me with my plate, and me with my cup,
stood and shed my blanket; enough is enough!
My winter was warm, for the first time in years!
The frost melted from the point in my ears!

I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,
and curled my toes in the burbur, then turned with a jerk.
And laying a finger on my lips,
I grinned at my mother, put my hands on my hips.

I sprang upstairs, to my team gave a shout,
and grinned and shouted, "Hey Mom! They cleared out!"
With a sigh of relief, as the workers drove out of site,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"


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Short Title: Hunting1

Subject: The night before Christmas 
Date: 06/21/2000 
Author: B Gulliver  
Newsgroup: 3do.bad-attitude 

Twas the night before Christmas
in an old hunting shack,
the rifles were loaded
and hung in the rack.

Eight hunters were sleeping
all snug in their beds,
while visions of trophy bucks
danced in their heads.

Then outside the shack
something moved on the land.
They ran to the window
with rifles in hand

when what to their half open
eyes should appear,
but eight trophy bucks,
eight beautiful deer.

They all raised their rifles
and each took a shot,
they all connected
believe it or not.

Then out of the dark
came a voice loud and clear
"You goofy cocksuckers
shot my fucking reindeer!"

BG
"Do not meddle in the affairs of cats,
for they are subtle & will piss on your computer."
--Bruce Graham


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Short Title: Hunting2

From: Chris Barnes (chris@txbarnes.com)
Subject: Twas the night before Goose Season 
Newsgroups: rec.hunting
Date: 2002-10-28 07:35:12 PST 
 
'Twas The Night Before Goose Season and all through the land,
not a waterfowler is sleeping, nobody can.

The decoys are washed and the shotguns are ready,
but most folks just hope that their dogs will be steady.

And I in my Gore-Tex thinsulate cap
had just settled down for I hoped a short nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter
the dog sprang from my lap (UGH!) so see what was the matter.

Away to the kitchen she flew like a flash.
Tore a hole through the screen and barked through the gash.

The moonlight glistening off the freshly fallen dew
allowed me to tell it was some one I knew.

It was my hunting partner who drove my dog so insane
and he whistled, he shouted, he called her by name.

From the door of the truck to the walk up the steps
and with a great clunk into the kitchen they crept.

He was a great big camouflaged neoprene elf
and I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself.

We spoke not a word but went straight to our work.
Loaded dogs, decoys and big-wheeled garden carts.

As he cinched the last strap he turned with a jerk and thrusting an arm
down deep in his pants
he said, "thought I'd forgotten my stamps"

As dry leaves before the hurricane fly,
well that describes our early morning ride.

We arrived at the field long before it was light
and a lone honk from above let me know things would be right.

We stood at the tailgate and talked for a while.
About dogs, decoy patterns and calling styles

but then it was time to go our separate ways
as he was hunting the long blind, about a half mile away.

But I heard him exclaim as he walked out of sight
"Good luck one and all, hunt safe and hunt right".


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Short Title: HyoJinMoon

Subject:      Twas the night before x-mas and all thru Moon's house..........
From:         rosamaxim@aol.com (Rosa maxim)
Date:         1997/12/21
Message-ID:   <19971221052301.AAA22179@ladder01.news.aol.com>
Newsgroups:   alt.religion.unification


A Christmas Poem
----------------------------------------------
Twas the night before Christmas
and all thru Moon's house,
not a true child was stirring,
They'd all been kicked out.

All the warrants were issued
for his son Hyo Jin Moon.
Divorces were mounting
The end coming soon.

Then what to my
wondering eyes should appear,
But Ole Bo Hi Pak
dressed up like a deer.

A sleigh on the roof
and Pak was our deer
but where oh pray tell
would santa appear?

And then in the night
a fat figure came through
Oh santa, I cried?
"No it's me Rev. Moon"

He didn't have a sack
or a shiney red suit
Still, I had hopes for
a present or two

Imagine the horror
my hopes gone so quick
when he pulled from behind
an indemnity stick

On Bo Hi, On Peter Kim
On tribal messiah's
We've got less than an hour
till the sun starts to rise

Forget about santa and
the good girls and boys
let's rush to Manhattan
and pawn these kid's toys

Another providence paid
the members held tight
"A Merry Christmas for Moon
since they fundraised all night".

-The End-


Craig Maxim     < rosamaxim@aol.com >
1 John 5:20     And we are in him who is true-even in his son Christ Jesus.
                                   He is the true God and eternal life .

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Last Modified January 7, 2007