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: NuclearEnergy

From: Jim Hoerner (jim_hoerner@hotmail.com)
Subject: Merry Christmas from Saint Nuke 
Newsgroups: sci.environment, alt.energy.nuclear, sci.energy, alt.save.the.earth
Date: 2001-12-21 11:30:58 PST 

Forward from Know_Nukes: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Know_Nukes/

  --- In Know_Nukes@y..., "Jim Hoerner"  wrote:
  Man oh man did those stink, Norm.  I can do better than that with half 
  my brain tied behind my back.  Considering I only have half a brain to 
  start with, that would be quite a handicap.
  "Rudolph the glowing green reindeer"...   Nah.  I got it...
  Here's an original one, written by me in fifteen minutes.  It stinks, 
  too, so don't bother telling me that.  Saint Nuke and all that.  Aplogies 
  to Clement Clarke Moore.  Enjoy...

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the home
Not a lightbulb was burning, 9th night none shone;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
They hoped that their neighbors' firewood would be shared;

The children were nestled shivering in their beds,
While visions of spoiled pudding haunted their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in silk pants,
We cursed what had led to this, uninformed anti-nuke rants.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and astute,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nuke.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, POWER! now, X-RAY! now, PROTON and NEUTRON!
On, ATOM! on STRONG FORCE! on, FISSION and FUSION!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the powerplant the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of uranium, and St. Nucleus too.

And then, in a twinkling, I saw in the distance
The fat man take to action, what a powerful prince.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Into the containment St. Nucleus went with a bound.

He was dressed all in white, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were not tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of UO2 he had flung into the core,
And he looked into his dosimeter, before going back for more.

The thoughts through his head were rather droll,
He decided to give naughty anti-nukes much-deserved coal;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

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

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the core; then turned with a jerk,
He laid finger on nose, as if to itch,
then bolted to the control room, where he flipped the switch;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
Thank goodness we're saved!  No more frost burn or blight!
HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL, GOOD-LIGHT!

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Short Title: NuclearPower

From: Jim Hoerner (jim_hoerner@hotmail.com)
Subject: Merry Christmas from Saint Nuke! (humor?) 
Newsgroups: alt.energy.nuclear, alt.engineering.nuclear, sci.energy
Date: 2003-12-24 07:13:37 PST 
 
Here's an original one by me.  It stinks, too, so don't bother telling
me about it.  Saint Nuke and all that.
If you enjoy witty humor, you'll hate this.
Apologies to Clement Clarke Moore...


'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the home,
Not a lightbulb was burning, 9th night, none shone;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
They hoped that their neighbors' firewood could be shared;

The children were nestled, shivering in their beds,
While visions of spoiled pudding haunted their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in silk pants,
We cursed what had led to this, UNINFORMED ANTI-NUKE RANTS.

When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window, I flew like a blue flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
A nice, warm, almost Cherenkov-like glow,
The solar panels on the roof were producing no power,
Because of the snow, and clouds, and the sun doesn't shine at this
hour.

I looked in the backyard, watching the turbine.
I was about to give up all hope for a nice gust of wind.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight radioactive reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and astute,
I knew in a moment, IT MUST BE SAINT NUKE.
Fast as thermal neutrons, his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, EINSTEIN!  Now, FERMI!  Now, PROTON and NEUTRON!
On, ATOM! on STRONG FORCE! on, FISSION and FUSION!
To the top of the porch!  To the top of the wall!
Now dash away!  Dash away!  Dash away all!"

Like steam from the cooling towers used to fly,
Westchester would not approve as they mounted to the sky,
So over to Indian Point, the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of uranium dioxide, AND SAINT NUCLEUS TOO.

And then, in a twinkling, I saw in the distance,
The fat man take to his slide rule, what a powerful prince.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Into the containment Saint Nucleus went with a bound.

He was dressed all in white, from his head to his foot,
His protective clothes were not tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of UO2 he had flung into the core,
He looked into his dosimeter, and then went back for more.

The thoughts in his head were really rather droll,
He decided to give all the naughty anti-nukes MUCH-DESERVED COAL;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed like a detector of GeLi.

He was chubby and plump, a jolly elf, even if old,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of the cold;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon erased all of my irrational fears and dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled ALL THE CORE; then turned with a jerk,
He laid finger to nose, as if to itch,
Then he bolted to the control room, where he FLIPPED THE SWITCH;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team he gave a nod,
And away they all flew, after raising the last control rod.
THANK GOODNESS WE'RE SAVED! No more frost burn or blight!
Happy Christmas to all, and to all, GOOD LIGHT!


Happiness, peace, health, and propserity to all!
Jim


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Short Title: Nudist

From: Mighty CheefDan![tm] Defender of Nudity![tm] (cheef@cheef.com)
Subject: Christmas Poem 
Newsgroups: alt.nudism.moderated, rec.nude, alt.christnet.nudism
Date: 2001-12-22 09:13:41 PST 

It's an annual (and increasingly embarassing) tradition that I inflict this 
on various folks.  Hope you enjoy it!

        A DIFFERENT NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS
            By Cheef Dan, December 1996         

'Twas the night before Christmas, and to put it quite clearly
This holiday would not be remembered too dearly.
We were both flat exhausted.  We'd been through hell, though,
Searching all month for a "Tickle-Me Elmo".

We both sat in front of a dumb unlit fire
And griped as our heating bill climbed ever higher.
We cursed our two kids, who couldn't bear to see flame
In the place they all thought was where Santa Claus came.

Now they were in bed, and we were both sauced
From the eggnog we'd guzzled when directions were lost
To this tricycle we tried in vain to construct
After ripping it off of the U.P.S. truck.

We'd gone thousands in debt, to impress all our friends
And purchase their loyalty as the year ends.
When all of a sudden, we heard a great crash
And we were both covered with fireplace ash.

A fat old guy out from our chimney came rolling
He went head over heels, like a giant ball bowling
He stood up and brushed off, and with the soot gone
We could see he was naked -- no red outfit on!

I'm an ugly drunk, and my wife was worried
So I ran for my shotgun in quite a hurry.
But this guy grabbed the yule log, and threw it quite fast
It landed in my path, and I tripped as I passed.

He said, "Hey, don't worry.  I'm just here to chat."
I said, "Get some clothes on, you freaky old bat."
He said, "Don't you recognize friendly Saint Nick?"
I said, "You're naked.  Just buzz off.  That's sick."

He turned with a smile, and said with some glee,
"Ho ho, Little Buddy, best listen to me.
You're right, I'm not Santa."  Then he started smilin'
I saw he was the Skipper -- from Gilligan's Island!

He said, "I want you to know we nearly went nuts
All of those years in those crummy grass huts.
Our nerves were all frazzled, I'm sure we'd be dead,
If we didn't find something to straighten our heads.

We soon all decided to check out the facts,
We all needed something to make us relax.
We asked the Professor, who happed by chance,
To have picked up a radio show from Southern France.

They had said if you wanted to get rid of your stress
There was no better way than to up and undress.
So we all started lying out nude in the sun,
Then started to play volleyball just for fun.

Soon you couldn't tell who had lots of money
Who was really famous, who acted real funny, 
Who taught the science, who grew corn and oats,
And who had lots of experience, sailing on boats.

The island we lived on became clothing-free.
It was wonderful living, believe you and me.
Sometimes I sit and wish we never were rescued.
And we'd stayed on that island and lived out our lives nude.

He turned back to the chimney, to go out as he came
I cried, "Don't be a fool!" and called Skipper by name
And for the very first time, with my wife and this man
We went nude in our hot tub. (He had quite a tan!)

I asked as we soaked, "Why did you come here?
To our house of all places, this night of the year?"
He replied with a grin, "I did not choose.
I was sent as an angel to bring you good news.

Relax and remember what this night is about.
Stress is like clothing -- you can live without.
Simple Christmas is best, when it is celebrated
As the birth of a child, they call God incarnated.

So go feed the hungry, Spend time with the sad,
Play a game with a kid with no mom or no dad.
Go to a service, Sing praise from your lips.
Then join with your family, and all skinnydip."

With that wisdom he stood up, and went from our tub
He dried off with a towel, said good-bye with a hug
Then walked out the door nude, into a bright light
And Christmas is different, since that special night.

		Merry Christmas!!!

-----
CHEEF.COM - Your CHEEF source for nudist info
North American clubs, beaches, and other locations
Events listings and comments feature for clubs
http://cheef.com includes Christian & singles info

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Short Title: OhioBicycleFederation

from http://cycling.org/lists/commute-logistics/commute-logistics-archive-hyper/commute-logistics.9512/0087.html

Fellow Bike Advocates,

The closure of U.S. 33 to bicyclists in the Logan/Athens, Ohio area inspired
me to write the following. I want to thank all of you for your sage advice, as 
we in the Ohio Bicycle Federation (OBF) continue to pursue this issue.

Merry Christmas,
Chuck Smith
Chair, Ohio Bicycle Federation

        THE OBF BEFORE ATHENS
 (with apologies to Clement C. Moore)

Twas the night before Christmas
And Ohio was in snow.
None was riding -
It was 20 below!

When what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a paceline of eight bike-riding reindeer!
On to Athens they pedaled with glee,
And they headed right over to Route 33!

A highway patrolman spied this illegal action
And pulled over the paceline in rapid reaction.
He issued a ticket to each one in line
And told them they must pay a very stiff fine.

They heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight:
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"l
       
A division of Planet C Publishing; copyright 1995-1998


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Short Title: Ojibwe

From: pas de deux (pas_de_deux@sympatico.ca)
Subject: Re: Just discovered this didn't get posted; is there a size limit for postings on SCB? 
Newsgroups: soc.culture.baltics
Date: 2002-12-26 13:16:28 PST 
 
'Twas the Night Before Ojibwe Christmas
 By Tara Prindle

'Twas the night before Niibaa-anamaíegiizhigad, when all through the wiigiwaam
Not an awakaan was stirring, not even a waawaabiganoojiinh;
The moccasins were hung by the smoke hole with care,
In hopes that Miigiwe Miskwaa Gichi Inini soon would be there;

The abinoojiinhyag were nestled all snug in their nibaaganan,
While visions of ziinzibaakwad danced in their nishttigwaan;
And nimaama in her moshwens, and I in my makadewindibe,
Had just settled down for a long biiboon zhiibaangwashi,

When outside the wiigiwaam there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the nibaagan to see what was the matter.
Away to the waasechigan I flew like inaabiwin,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the gibiigaíiganiigin.

The dibik-giizis on the breast of onaaband
Gave a shine like duct tape to objects zazagaamagad,
When, what to my wondering nishkiizhigoon should appear,
But a miniature toboggan, and eight tiny waawaaskeshi,

With a little old driver, so lively and wajepii,
I knew in a moment it must be Miigiwe Miskwaa Gichi Inini.
More rapid than migiziwag his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and biibaagi, and izhi-wiinde by name;

"Now, Bimibatoo! now, Niimi! now, Babaamishimo and Moozhikwe!
On, Anang! on Zaagi! on, Animikii and Wawaasese!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wiigiwaam!
Now Bimibide! Ipide! Ombibidemagad!"

As dry leaves that before the wiindigoo fly,
When they meet with BIA, mount to the sky,
So up to the apakwaan the coursers they flew,
With the tobaggon full of toys, and Miigiwe Miskwaa Gichi Inini too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the apakwaan
The prancing and pawing of each little inzid.
As I drew in my iniji, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Miigiwe Miskwaa Gichi Inini came with a bound.

He was dressed all in gipagawe, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with bingwiand and soot;
A bundle of toys he mangiwane on his back,
And he looked like a adaawewinini just opening his pack.

His ishkiinzigoon -- how they twinkled! his inowan how merry!
His miskwanowan were like roses, his nose like a choke-cherry!
His droll little indoon was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as gichimookamaan;

The stump of a opwaagan he held tight in his wiibidaakaajiganan,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a miskwaanzigan;
He was full up on frybread with little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a wiigwaasinaagan of jelly.

He was chubby and wiinin, a right jolly old elf,
And I giimoodaapi when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his ishkiinzigoon and a twist of his mangindibe,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to gotaaji;

He ojibwemo not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the moccasins; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his ibinaakwaanininj aside of his nose,
And wewebikweni, up the smoke hole he rose;

He sprang to his toboggan, to his waawaaskeshi gave a whistle,
And away they all onjinizhimo like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him biibaagi, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Niibaa-anamaíegiizhigad to all, and to all baamaapii."

---
GK's note
Ojibwe territory covers a wide area that includes my 'home town' of Fort
William - Port Arthur (now 'Thunder Bay').
It's clear that Thunder ('Animikii') is an important element in the culture
of the Ojibwe. (As in Lithuania - what a wonderful uniting thread!)  The
chief god in the Lithuanian pantheon is 'Perkûnas' - god of thunder.
Anyway, there is a sculpture dedicated to thunder/animikii/perkûnas in
Thunder Bay and I will see it when I go there in April.
Reading this stuff below about the sculpture, the first thing that occurs to
me is the impoverishment that occured when the European settlers brushed
aside the beautiful indigenous names and replaced them with their own. In
that beautiful inscription (rather like a haiku, is it not?) look at how
alien and mundane the imposed names appear compared to the 'real' ones:
a.. 'Sleeping Giant' instead of NAANABOZHOO [Why couldn't they have kept
NAANABOZHOO? It's not beyond the capabilities of the European kids to use
that word and to know - if they are interested - that it means 'le géant
endormi' or 'the sleeping giant' in their imported language.
b.. Across the river with three mouths - GAA-MINISTIGWEYAAG [Thank goodness
this was kept as 'Kaministikwia' rather than called
something boring like those rivers that form the mouths: Mission River and
McKellar River. And listen to this - the two islands thus formed had their
native names pushed asided to be called - still to this day as far as I
know - by the brilliantly imaginative names of 'Island No. 1' and 'Island
No. 2'.
c.. Mount McKay insetad of ANIMIKII-WAJIW! Who the hell was McKay? What did
he ever do to deserve to have ANIMIKII-WAJIW renamed after him?
*******************
ANIMIKII
The sculpture 'Animikii' is located at the Kaministikwia River Overlook at
Donald and Simpson Streets, the site of the former Fort William
city dock on the Kaministikwia River. This 22' stainless steel sculpture was
the first piece of public art commissioned by the Community Arts & Heritage
Advisory Committee. Created by Toronto Artist Anne Allarydce in 1992, this
silvery winged form rises out of natural rock and smooth, washed stones
imbedded in a 15' diameter concrete pedestal. Polished granite slabs for
seating rest upon the circumference of the circle and are inscribed in
ojibway syllabics and english. The four inscriptions read as follows:
a.. From the Giant who sleeps in the bay - NAANABOZHOO
b.. Across the river with three mouths - GAA-MINISTIGWEYAAG
c.. To the heights of Mount McKay - ANIMIKII-WAJIW
d.. Flies the Thunder - ANIMIKII
As visitors move through the constricted tunnel under the railway tracks and
into the light, away from the city and toward the river, they
experience "a sense of arrival and entrance", as silver wings surge upward,
and eyes are free to follow.
Copyright Arts & Heritage Thunder Bay 1998. All Rights Reserved.


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Short Title: Oklahoma

Newsgroups: ok.general 
From: The Shadow Knows... 
Date: Sat, 25 Dec 2004 00:13:33 -0600 

An Okie Christmas... 

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the trailer;
Not a creature was stirring, even the unemployed jailer.
The stockings were hung by the meth lab with care;
In hopes that the OSBI would not soon be there.

The children were nestled, all tied to their beds,
While visions of youth ministers danced in their heads.
Sister in nothing and dad, his balls blue,
Had just settled in for a short winter's screw.

When out on the lawn there arose such a blast,
As the meth lab blew up, just like the last.
Away went the window, along with the stash
Tore open the closet, and sucked up our cash.

The glow of the flame upon the new fallen glass,
Gave a luster of mid-day to one's broom-sticked ass.
When what to the drugged-out eyes should appear,
But a miniature Hoopty and eight slaughtered deer.

With a little old driver so drunk and unsure
Well I knew in a moment, 'twas Carroll Fisher.
More rapid than eagles, his pursuers they came
And he whistled and he shouted and he cussed them by name.

"On Ernest, on Tommy, on Frankie and Todd
On Mary, on Jimmy, on Timmy and Wes!
To the top of the trailer, to the top of the wall
Now, dash away, dash away, dash away all!" 

He spoke not a word but went straight to his work
And stole all the stockings and turned with a jerk
And laying a finger to the side of his nose
And after snorting that meth, indeed he rose 

He sprang to his Hoopty, and to the pedal he slammed
And away he flew, like one of the damned
But I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight
"Merry Christmas to all and to all..goodnight. - you stupid Okie
bastards, why'd you leave the door unlocked?!"


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Short Title: OldAge

Date: Thu, 15 Feb 2001
From: kellybob116@netzero.net
Subject: Twas the night before Fifty

Although this was done for my brother's 50th birthday
party, it can be genericized to anyone...

      Twas the night before fifty, when all through the land
      Not a creature was older than this guy at hand
      Tom's dentures were soaking in a glass on this night,
      In hopes that PolyDent would remove the stained blight;

      Yes, Tom was nestled all snug in his bed,
      While symptoms of Alzheimer's played with his head;
      Tricia was sleeping, Tom had some bad gas,
      He kept fanning the covers on that unfortunate lass.

      When outside the nursing home there arose such a clatter,
      Tom sprang from his bedpan to see what was the matter.
      He shuffled his walker towards the window as a goal,
      But soon wet himself, having no bladder control.

      The moon glistened on Tom's few old white hairs,
      While his Depends suddenly felt like warm mushy eclairs,
      When, what to Tom's bloodshot eyes should appear,
      But the old Grim Reaper, and he said 'Come here!

      Tom knew at that moment he was on this guy's list,
      And as he thought more about it, he began to get pissed.
      'I've got lots more good years he yelled, coughing and hacking,
      'You come here right now; I'll give you a good whacking!

      Now, the Reaper was not used to this kind of debate,
      So to Tom he said 'I will go after your mate!
      Then, Tom, who was not able to remember her name,
      Said 'OK, she was one I could never quite tame'

      With his hearing aids in, Tom heard some loud noise,
      He had ripped a few off, it was one of his joys.
      As Tom drew in his head, and was turning around,
      Down the chimney the Reaper came with a bound.

      Reaper dressed all in black, his cloak had no fashion,
      He carried a scythe as part of his passion,
      A fairly-large coffin he had brought like a prize,
      And proceeded to ask Tom to try it for size.

      Tom's eyes - how they narrowed! His wrinkles got deep!
      His nose hairs got damp as he started to weep!
      His loose hacking cough spewed phlegm to and fro,
      And his four-day stubble was as white as the snow;

      Tom then swung his cane at the Reaper with glee
      But the Reaper could easily side-step it, you see
      Because each of Tom's swings lasted most of a minute,
      He was moving so slow; there was no speed quite in it.

      Tom gasped; he stumbled; he grabbed a near shelf,
      And Reaper laughed when he saw this, in spite of himself;
      A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
      Soon gave Tom to know there was plenty to dread;

      Reaper spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
      Stuffed Tom in the coffin; then turned with a jerk,
      And laying a finger aside of his nose,
      And grabbing poor Tom, up the chimney they rose;

      Then, with a Geritol fart Tom blew off his Depends,
      And the Reaper perished when he breathed the foul winds.
      Tom escaped from the coffin, fell to the lawn floor,
      Crawled up the front steps and pushed open the door.

      Now, Tricia still slept and had not heard a sound,
      So Tom popped a Viagra he had recently found,
      He woke up poor Trish and said 'This ain't nifty!
      I want my present right, now I might not make it to fifty!



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Short Title: OnlineShopping

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

'Twas the Night Before ...
by Tom Rodman of Durham, NC

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, except me and my mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
But nary a present was seen anywhere.

The weeks had slipped by me, my time I had squandered,
The pressure now on, I surfed and I pondered,
I needed some presents, and I needed them quick,
Else I'd look like the Grinch instead of St. Nick.

My brain getting soggy my hopes getting dim,
It looked like the Grinches were going to win,
When what to my wandering cursor appeared,
But the mother of all Web sites! (I let out a cheer!)

There were toys of all sizes and shapes there before
And with a click of my mouse, I opened the door.
On Amazon! On KB Toys! Toys RUs I adore.
On Barnes and on Noble! On E-Bay and more!

I strolled through the aisles and virtual shelves,
Toys flew to my shopping cart as if placed there by elves.
Every toy I could imagine was there at my touch
(And maybe I ordered just a little too much.)

Then I moved to the checkout, I was now feeling fine,
Isn't this wonderful? No standing in line!
I got them all shipped before it was too late.
Overnighted to me! (Ain't UPS great?)

The presents now ordered, my credit card maxed
I can sip on some eggnog, and try to relax.
And ‘til January comes, with its bills out of sight
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good midnight.

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Short Title: Oracle

Subject:      The Night Before Xmas
From:         tck@unlinfo.unl.edu (tracie klosterman)
Date:         1997/12/19
Message-ID:   <67e5on$ggs@crcnis3.unl.edu>
Newsgroups:   rec.humor.oracle.d

The Night Before Christmas, as altered by myself and a very creative
incarnation.

The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply.
Your question was:

> Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the temple,
> Not a creature was stirring, not even the Oracle.
>

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} The woodchucks were hanged from the chimney's rough flint,
} In hopes that some supplicants could take a hint.
} The Priests they were nestled all snug on their straw,
} While visions of feather-beds filled them with awe.
} And Lisa in her teddy, and I in the pool,
} Had just dimmed the lights for to celebrate Yule --
} When from the computer arose such a beeping,
} I put down the handcuffs to see why 'twas cheeping.
} Away to the keyboard I flew like a plane,
} To read the words filling the screen like a stain.
}
} The glow from the words on the video screen
} Made everything near it look leprous and green,
} When, what to my frustrated eyes should appear,
} But a single right caret, so stark and severe;
} Without any grovel -- not even a word!
} I swore that the supplicant was a small turd.
} More rapid than eagles my curses they came,
} And I screamed, and shouted, and called him rude names.
} "You smeghead!  You pricklouse!  You sniveling runt!
} You WebTV luser (if I may be blunt)!
} To my closet of LARTs!  What fun toys have I got?
} (I mustn't o'er-use my well-worn Staff of Zot!)"
} So I pulled out my tracing-and-teleport wand,
} And my fireproof underwear quickly I donned.
} I waved the wand madly; the air it turned blue;
} A sparkling appeared, and the Supplicant too.
} And then, in a twinkling, he crashed to the floor;
} With him gaping in terror, I bolted the door.
}
} So I slid home the bolt, and I turned back with glee,
} To confront the mere mortal who'd tangled with me.
} He was slovenly dressed, all unkempt and rough,
} And his clothes were all tarnished with food stains and stuff.
} A knapsack of books he had strapped to his back,
} And a smell like old sweatsocks arose from the pack.
} His lips--how they quivered! his small eyes, how inset!
} His cheeks were like Braille, his nose like a faucet!
} His droll little mouth was stretched out in a scream,
} As he frantically searched for an end to this dream.
} A chewed-up old pencil fell from his right ear,
} And his mouse-callused hand shook with tremors of fear.
} He had a pale face and a little round belly,
} That shook, as he sobbed, like a bowlful of jelly.
} He was chubby and plump, a right wretched young pup,
} And I laughed when I saw him; my anger let up.
} No torture of mine could be worse than the fate
} Of being this queue-draining geek reprobate.
}
} I spoke not a word, but just pointed and sneered,
} Then I waved the wand under his pitiful beard.
} And laying his finger inside of his nose,
} He gave a small whimper; in midair he rose,
} And faded from view.  I shut off the computers,
} And went back to Lisa's incredible hooters.
} But I softly exclaimed, ere we found Paradise,
} "You queue-drainers beware; I'm not always this nice."
}
}
} We *both* owe Clement Clarke Moore an apology for doing that to his
} poem...
}

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Short Title: Original

                   THE ORIGINAL NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS
                                      
And now, with great risk, going against the lawyers' advice, we bring you Major Henry Livingston Jr.'s original visit from St. Nicholas (see below for explanation of authorship). It is a classic of the holiday season. It has been recited, set to music, and reprinted ever since.
   
      A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS
      by Major Henry Livingston Jr. (1748-1828) 

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

  The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
  While visions of sugar plums danc'd in their heads,
  And Mama in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
  Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap --

  When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
  I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
  Away to the window I flew like a flash,
  Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash.

  The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,
  Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below;
  When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
  But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny rein-deer,

  With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
  I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
  More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
  And he whistled, and shouted, and call'd them by name:

  "Now! Dasher, now! Dancer, now! Prancer, and Vixen,
  "On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Dunder and Blixem;
  "To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
  "Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

  As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,
  When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
  So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
  With the sleigh full of Toys -- and St. Nicholas too:

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

  He was dress'd all in fur, from his head to his foot,
  And his clothes were all tarnish'd with ashes and soot;
  A bundle of toys was flung on his back,
  And he look'd like a peddler just opening his pack:

  His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry,
  His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry;
  His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow.
  And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

  The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
  And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
  He had a broad face, and a little round belly
  That shook when he laugh'd, like a bowl full of jelly:

  He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
  And I laugh'd when I saw him in spite of myself;
  A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
  Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

  He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
  And fill'd all the stockings; then turn'd with a jerk,
  And laying his finger aside of his nose
  And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.

  He sprung to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
  And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle:
  But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight --
  Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night. 


Authorship Note: According to http://www.library.utoronto.ca/utel/rp/poems/livingston1.html, and other sources, this poem was composed in 1807 or 1808 by Major Henry Livingston Jr.  Clement Clark Moore later took credit for the poem in his book "Poems (New York: Bartlett and Welford, 1844)".  As quoted from the web page, "In the year 2000, Don Foster, an English professor at Vassar College in Poughkeepsie, New York, used external and internal evidence to show that Clement Clarke Moore could not have been the author of this poem, but that it was probably the work of Livingston, and that Moore had written another, and almost forgotten, Christmas piece, "Old Santeclaus." Foster's analysis of this deception appears in his "Author Unknown: On the Trail of Anonymous (New York: Henry Holt, 2000): 221-75."

Also note that "Dunder and Blixem" was later changed to "Donder and Blitzen" by Clement Clark Moore.  In addition, many modern versions use "Donner and Blitzen".


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Short Title: OriginalInGerman

from http://www.artsci.wustl.edu/~glcory/music/twas.html

                        Twas the Night- auf deutsch
 
Hier ist das Gedicht "Twas the night before Christmas" in der Uebersetzung von
Erich Kaestner:
 
'S ist am Vorweihnachtsabend und im ganzen Haus
Da regt sich kein Wesen, nicht mal eine Maus.
Die Struempfe, die haengen fein still am Kamin,
Man hofft ja, der Niklaus soll bald sie dort seh'n.
Wir sitzen gemuetlich und nicken halb ein.
Doch ploetzlich ist draussen solcher Laerm, 's ist ein Graus,
Ich stuerze ans Fenster, reiss es auf, schau hinaus.
Was seh ich? Unglaublich!  Kann den Augen kaum traun,
Vor'm niedlichen Schlitten acht Rentierchen, braun,
Und ein Kutscher nicht jung aber flink und fidel,
Muss doch Nikolaus sein, denk ich gleich.  Meiner Seel!
Nur'n Augenblick noch, auf dem Dach ein Gerufe
Und das Stampfen und Scharren der saemtlichen Hufe.
Kaum schliess ich das Fenster und drehe mich um,
Schon kommt durch den Schornstein der Nikolaus, rum bum!
In Pelz eingehuellt vom Kopf bis zum Fuss.
Doch der Pelz hat gelitten, ist voll Asche und Russ.
Mit dem Sack auf dem Ruecken voll Spielwaren fein
Scheint der heilige Klaus ein Hausierer zu sein.
Hei, wie blitzen die Augen, und Gruebchen, ei was!
Die Wangen wie Rosen, wie 'ne Kirsche die Nas.
Sein Gesicht ist vergnuegt und sein Baeuchlein, o weh!
Das wackelt beim Lachen wie'n Haufen Gelee.
Kein Wort wird gesprochen, ans Werk geht er stracks
Und fuellt alle Struempfe, dann dreht er sich, knacks!
Schon hat er gegruesst, ist den Schornstein hinauf,
In den Schlitten hinein, und die Rentier im Lauf.
Doch eh' er auss' Hoerweit, da ruft er und lacht:
Frohe Weihnachten all' und nun alle Gut Nacht!
 
   German Music Database Homepage


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Last Modified January 7, 2007