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: Appalachian1

   Author:   Al Justice
   Email: eagle79@inetone.net
   Date: 1998/12/06
   Forums: alt.appalachian
   
Twas the night before Christmas, and all throught the hills,
not a creature was stirrin, cept up by the still.
Wubba was crying cause Don, Guv, and Moose was in jail,
in three separate corners tellin each other to go to mmm...

When up on the rooftop landed, to Gypsy's delight,
eight flying monkeys, each holding a light.
With Al in a kilt, standing behind the reins,
handing out leaflets cussin MTR in refrain.

And up from the kitchen where  Donna's cookies were mixed,
with little pieces of cash crops, whisperin their attitudes will be fixed.
(And yall wondered what was hangin in Cameron's barn.)
With ER writing words, our hearts for to light,
sayin Merry Christmas to all, and too all a good fight.

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Short Title: Appalachian2

   Author:   FishMoose
   Email: fishmoos@SPAMSLAMnetset.com
   Date: 1998/12/13
   Forums: alt.appalachian
   
Borrowed from http://mcweb.martin.k12.ky.us/hillsweb/

Twas The Night Before Christmas
In Appalachia

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the home place,
Nary a creature was stirrin', not even a trace.
The stockings were hung with care over the mantle
In hopes that they would be filled by Santa.

The youngins' were asleep in their beds,
While dreams of peppermint taffy filled their heads.
And Mamma in her flannels, sound asleep,
I dare not make a noise, not even a peep.

When out in the yard I heard such a clatter,
I ran to the window to see what was the matter.
As I wiped the frost from the glass,
I saw what looked like a bright red flash.

The moon was bright on the new snow,
It was as bright as day, everything was aglow,
What I saw, I just couldn't believe,
My eyes were afoolin' me, my senses took leave.

A little fat man on a big red sleigh,
And eight big deer who seemed eager to be play.
When Ole Blue began to bark,
The old man whistled and called out in the dark.

"Now Dasher! Now Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen!
On Comet! On Cupid!, On Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall,
Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!"

And then before I knew it, I heard them on the roof.
I just knew my cabin wouldn't hold all those hooves.
As I wiped the sweat from my brow with my hand,
Down the chimney came this little fat man.

He was dressed in fur and smelled like soot,
Smoke filled the room and fire snapped at his foot.
He jumped from the fire place and straightened his back,
And pulled some toys out of his sack.

As he began to place the gifts under the tree,
I felt as if he was watching me.
His eyes were bright and his cheeks were rosy.
His long white beard looked like Uncle Poseys.

He had a pink nose and a real fat belly,
That seemed to shake like Grandma's fresh strawberry jelly.
He looked at me and gave me a smile,
I knew then he would only be here for a while.

He filled the stockings and then turned around,
Tipped his cap and without a sound,
Sprang up through the chimney to the top,
Climbed on his sleigh with a flop.

Those deer knew exactly what to do,
Up they went and away they flew.
But I heard him holler as he flew out of sight,
"MERRY CHRISTMAS Y'ALL, AND Y'ALL HAVE A GOOD NIGHT!"

Adapted from :The Night Before Christmas
              (A Visit From St. Nicholas)
              by Clement Clarke
Moore Adaptation by: Bobby Allen

"You can take the boy outta the country..."
Billy Bob FishMoose

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Short Title: Appalachian3

   Author:   Arnold & Jennifer Pomerance
   Email: anjp@mindspring.com
   Date: 1998/12/22
   Forums: alt.appalachian
   
Found a card with this version on it:

Twas the night before Christmas
and all through the shack,
I could hear the distinct sounds
of my Grandpappy's hack.

We had just hung our stockings
in a jubilant mood,
in hopes that St. Elvis
would bring us some food.

Daddy was nestled
all snug in his bed,
coal dust covering
his pillow and head.

No wood in the stove,
the cold numbed my feet,
to add insult to injury
Ol' Red was in heat.

When out on the lawn
I heard the grinding of gears,
I sprang from my bed
almost frightened to tears.

When what to my wondering
eyes should appear,
but a miniature sleigh
pulled by a dark green John Deere.

With a little ol' driver
shaking his pelvis,
I instantly knew that
it must be St. Elvis.

He was dressed all in sequins
from his head to his toes,
and the top of his lip
curled up to his nose.

His hips how they twitched,
his gut was titanic,
when he leaned on the porch rail,
I went into a panic.

Huffing and puffing,
his face turning red,
soon gave me to know
he'd come back from the dead.

He sang not a note,
but went straight to his work,
filled all the stockings
and turned with a jerk.

Then hitching his pants,
lumbered back to the sleigh,
fired up the tractor,
and was soon on his way.

Then he bid us adieu
with his personal touch...
"Merry Christmas to all
and Thanks Veramuch!"

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Short Title: Arkansas1

Subject:      An Arkansas Christmas (fwd)
From:         "Homer W. Smith" 
Date:         1997/12/19
Newsgroups:   alt.clearing.technology

AN ARKANSAS CHRISTMAS

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the shack,
not a thing was a movin', from the front to the back,
The kids were in bed, I believe we had nine,
The wife in her curlers, was lookin' real fine.

A cold wind was blowin', up the holler it moaned,
All seven dogs on the porch howled and groaned.
The boys were all dreamin' of weapons and guns,
for killin' God's creatures, there's no better fun.

The girls in their feminine dreams were attuned,
to getting those gallons of Wal-Mart perfume.
The wife wanted jewelry, like rings with big rocks,
I wanted my Chevy, down off the blocks.

Then in the yard, such a noise did commence,
like something was caught, in the barb-wire fence.
I ran to the window, and saw pretty quick,
the man makin' the racket, was Good Ol' St. Nick.

You may think of Santa, in your own mind's eye,
dressed in a red and white suit, But I've got a surprise.
That old boy's an Arkie, our fair state he won't fail'er,
He married his cousin, and they live in a trailer.

On Christmas, of course, a sleigh for his rig,
He hooks the thing up, to a razorback pig.
He climbed on the roof, with his bag full of goodies,
He backed down the fireplace, all dirty and sooty.

Fat legs in his britches, chubby hands in his mittens,
I admit from the back, he looked like Bill Clinton.
He turned toward the tree, His eyes all aglow,
He was an Arkansas boy, from his head to his toe.

His neck was a red one, His shirt said "Light Beer",
there was no red hat, his cap read,"John Deere".
He left all the presents, with an air of delight,
Then it was back to the chimney, and into the night.

He ran into the yard, and threw his bag in the sleigh,
Then he yelled at the dogs, to get out of the way.
And I heard him exclaim, as those pigs took to flight,
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.....or maybe it was a "bud lite"


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Short Title: Arkansas2

From: Edward Locke (huygens1962@yahoo.com)
Subject: Christmas Jocularity 
Newsgroups: nashville.general
Date: 2002-12-24 01:13:12 PST 

ARKANSAW CHRISTMAS 

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the shack,
not a darn thing was a movin', from the front to the back. 
The kids were in bed, ...we had nine at the time,
The wife in her curlers, was lookin' real fine.

A cold wind was blowin', up the holler it moaned,
All ten dogs on the porch howled and groaned. 
The boys were all dreamin' of weapons and guns,
for killin' God's creatures, .....there's no better fun!

The girls in their feminine dreams were attuned,
to getting those gallons of Wal-Mart perfume. 
The wife wanted jewelry, like rings with big rocks,
I just wanted my Chevy down off the blocks. 

Then out in the yard, such a noise did commence,
like something was caught in our new 'bobwar' fence.
I ran to the window, and saw pretty quick,
the man makin' that racket, was Good Ol' St. Nick. 

You may think of Santa in your own mind's eye,
dressed in a red and white suit, but, I've got a surprise. 
That old boy's an Arkie, from up near Mt. Gaylor,
He married his cousin, and they live in a trailer.

On Christmas, of course, a sleigh for his rig,
He hooks the thing up to a Razorback pig! 
He climbed on the roof, with his bag full of goodies,
He backed down the fireplace, all dirty and sooty.

Fat legs in his britches, chubby hands in his mittens,
I must admit from the back, he looked like Bill Clinton. 
He turned toward the tree, his eyes all aglow,
He was an Arkansas boy from his head to his toe.

His neck was a red one, His shirt said "Lite Beer",
he had no red hat on, but his cap read "John Deere". 
He left all the presents, with an air of delight,
Then it was back to the chimney, and into the night.

He ran into the yard, threw his bag in the sleigh,
Then he yelled at the dogs, "Get the heck out th' way!" 
I ran out to ask him why he brought such good cheer;
But instead he just asked me, "Did you get you a deer?"

Then I heard him exclaim, as those pigs took to flight,
"Merry Christmas to all..... I need a Bud Lite!"


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Short Title: ArtsIntFiction

From: David A. Cornelson (david_dot_cornelson_at_iflibrary_dot_com)
Subject: Twas the Night Before Comp Games... 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.int-fiction, rec.games.int-fiction
Date: 2003-09-28 21:18:20 PST 

'Twas the night before Comp Games, when all through the IF community
Not a player was stirring, not even Soon-Min Yee;
The laptops were lit by the fridge with care,
In hopes that St. Stephen soon would be there;

The players were nestled all smug with delight,
While visions of victories danced in LCD light;
And mamma with her notebook, and I with my keyboard,
Had just settled down for a comp night's game hoard,

When out on the 'net there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the desk to see what was the matter.
Away to the newsreader I flew without pause,
Tore open the post and threw open WinFrotz.

The LCD on the breast of the notebook's glow
Gave the lustre of red-herrings below,
When, what to my wondering eyes had came,
But Comp03.Z5, and thirty new if comp games,

With a little old terp, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be my first click.
More rapid than eagles the first game finished at last,
I whistled, and shouted, and said that was fast;

"Now, Nelson! now, Plotkin! now, Cadre and Wilson!
On, Emily! on Ivan! on, Finley and O'Brian!
To the top of the list! to the top of the vote!
Another game away! game away! game away vote!"

As old mappings that before the coffee gets cold,
When they meet with an obstacle, to help they shall bolt,
So up to the archive with ftp they flew,
With a download of answers, and mimesis too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard in my mind
The prancing and pawing of little NPC-kind.
As I drew in my hands, and was turning around,
Down from the ether Floyd came with a bound.

He was dressed all in metal, from his head to his foot,
And his tools were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of games he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his sack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his firewire ports how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up in a pinch,
And the gleem of his chin was as silver every inch;

The square of a disk he held tight in his teeth,
And a visor encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a shiny metal trunk,
That echoed when he laughed like a muffler that'd sunk.

He was thin and carefree, a right jolly old 'bot,
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 hard drives; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his head,
And giving a nod, back to the internet he fled;

He sprang to his ftp client, 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 COMP GAMES TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!"


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Short Title: Assembly

Subject:      (another)  THE NIGHT BEFORE...
From:         JMFS19A@prodigy.com (Nancy Carson)
Date:         1997/12/06
Message-ID:   <66c08v$1er0$1@newssvr03-int.news.prodigy.com>
Newsgroups:   rec.humor


From the Internet........

         'Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house
            I searched for the tools to hand to my spouse.
         Instructions were studied and we were inspired,
            in hopes we could manage "Some Assembly Required."
         The children were quiet (not asleep) in their beds, while Dad
            and I faced the evening with dread:
         a kitchen, two bikes, Barbie's town house to boot!
            And, thanks to Grandpa, a train with a toot!
         We opened the boxes, my heart skipped a beat....
            let no parts be missing or parts incomplete!
         Too late for last-minute returns or replacement;
            if we can't get it right, it goes in the basement!
         When what to my worrying eyes should appear,
            but 50 sheets of directions, concise, but not clear,
         with each part numbered and every slot named,
            so if we failed, only we could be blamed.
         More rapid than eagles the parts then fell out,
            all over the carpet they were scattered about.
         "Now bolt it!  Now twist it!  Attach it right there!
            Slide on the seats, and staple the stair!
         Hammer the shelves, and nail to the stand."
            "Honey," said hubby, "you just glued my hand."
         And then in a twinkling, I knew for a fact
            that all the toy dealers had indeed made a pact
         to keep parents busy all Christmas Eve night
            with "assembly required" till morning's first light.
         We spoke not a word, but kept bent at our work,
            till our eyes, they went bleary; our fingers all hurt.
         The coffee went cold and the night, it wore thin
            before we attached the last rod and last pin.
         Then laying the tools away in the chest,
            we fell into bed for a well-deserved rest.
         But I said to my husband just before I passed out,
            "This will be the best Christmas, without any doubt.
         Tomorrow we'll cheer, let the holiday ring,
            and not have to run to the store for a thing!
         We did it! We did it! The toys are all set
            for the perfect, most perfect, Christmas, I bet!"
         Then off to dreamland and sweet repose I gratefully went,
            though I suppose there's something to say for those
            self-deluded.....
         I'd forgotten that BATTERIES are never included!
 

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Short Title: Astronomy

From: Morris Jones (mojo@devilrock.whiteoaks.com)
Subject: "The Week Around Solstice" Jane Houston Jones 
Newsgroups: sci.astro.amateur
Date: 2002-12-21 09:50:40 PST 

This from my lovely wife Jane ... :)
Date: Fri, 20 Dec 2002 22:11:08 -0800
From: Jane Houston Jones 

Twas the week before Solstice, when all through the city,
Not a planet was shining, now isn't that a pity.
The telescope was stored in the garage with despair,
In hopes that the weather would soon turn to fair.

The astronomers were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of nebulae danced in their heads.
And Mojo with his laptop and  I with my starmap,
Had just settled down for a cloudy night 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 with a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon shone brightly, no clouds hid the glow,
The full moonlit lustre to objects below.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But Pleiades, Orion, and Ursa Major, the bear.

With our trusty old telescope, the setup was quick,
I knew in a moment we had objects to pick.
More rapid than eagles, the targets they came,
We aimed and we pointed and called them by name.

"Now, Procyon, now Pollux, now Castor and Capella!
On Aldebaran, on Rigel, on Sirius, and Betelgeuse, the red fella :-)
To the top and around the winter circle of stars,
Now a quick look at Saturn, Jupiter, Venus and Mars.

As fireflies that before the dawns morning light,
Brilliantly flicker and soon are a memory bright,
A new wonder would paint the dark sky to pale blue,
The sunrise was nearing and morning twilight was too.

And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I stepped from the telescope and was turning around,
Down the chimney the stranger came with a bound.

He looked like an astronomer, bundled from head to his foot,
Like a stargazer his clothes were tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
Looked just like our telescope accessory pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry
He looked like we do after a cold winter starshow
Freezing but happy from the Milky Way glow

The stump of a flashlight held tight in his teeth
Its soft red glow encircled his head like a wreath
We asked him if he'd ever looked closely at Mars
"I'm working at night, I have no time for the stars".

He stepped up to the eyepiece, a right jolly old elf,
And I smiled as he gasped, 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 took in view after view,
Then he spoke with a sigh he had more work to do.
And laying his finger aside of 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 like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
Happy stargazing to all and to all a dark night.


My apologies to Major Henry Livingston Jr. 1748 - 1828,  author of "Twas 
the Night before Christmas" or Account of a Visit from St. Nicholas. 
Previously believed to be the written by Clement Clarke Moore.

Jane

-- 

Jane Houston Jones
San Rafael, CA
jane@whiteoaks.com
http://www.whiteoaks.com

-- 
Morris Jones
San Rafael, CA
mojo@whiteoaks.com
http://www.whiteoaks.com


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Short Title: AT&T

From: Frank St. Claire (fstclair@airmail.net)
Subject: AT&T (Digital Wireless Broadband) Night Before Christmas 
Newsgroups: dfw.internet.providers, alt.internet.wireless
Date: 2000-12-05 14:49:30 PST 

Today's outage inspired me ....

   The AT&T Night Before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,
Not a personal computer was stirring, not even a mouse,
The AT&T antenna was hung on the chimney with one wire bare,
In hopes that the AT&T repairmen soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their bed,
While visions of Internet connectivity danced in their heads,
And mamma with her Mac, and I with my laptop,
Had once again forgotten how bad was the AT&T slop...

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 should appear to my eyes tired
But an unmarked van, with dealer plates expired,

With a yellow helmeted driver, so dull and thick,
I knew it must be the AT&T repairman named Nick.
More slowly than turtles his vehicle did sputter and flame,
And he coughed and wheezed, and called his assistants by name:

"Now, Larry! now, Curley! now Moe and AT&T Wireless CEO!
On, Mutt! on Jeff! on Ollie and Stanley!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now crash away! stash away! stash away all!"

As open circuits that say "made by AT&T" cry,
When they meet with a connection, they do apart fly,
So up to the house-top the assistants they crawled,
With the bag full of war surplus parts, and their leader bawled.

And then, before dawn, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little goof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney their leader fell 300 not less one pound.

He was dressed all in prison attire, from his head to his paws,
And his clothes were all tarnished with electrical faux pas.
A bundle of broken AT&T systems he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a con-artist just opening his pack.

His eye -- how it half-opened -- his double chin so fat!
His stomach was like a melon, his nose like a rat!
His slobbering mouth was hung open like a drain,
And his stupidity added to AT&T's economic bane.

The stump of a Y-connector he held tight in his two remaining teeth,
And flies encircled his head like a swirling black wreath.
He had a bloated face and a huge belly
That shook, when he breathed, like a bowl full of jelly.

He was obese and disheveled, a disgusting midget,
And I cringed when I saw him, so that he caused me to fidget.
A twitch of his elbow a jerk of his arm
Soon gave me to know I should feel great alarm.

He spoke not a word, but did his worst work,
And tangled all my house wiring; then turned with a smirk,
And pulling his finger out of his nose,
And giving a cough, up the chimney he arose.

He crawled to his van, to his assistants he did bark,
And away they all skulked like thieves in the dark.
But I heard him snicker, ere he drove out of sight,
"Now your phones and lights don't work, so you might as well call it a night!"


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Short Title: ATFRaid

Subject: Twas the ATF before christmas and all thru the house 
Date: 09/25/2000 
Author: Raven  
Newsgroup: misc.survivalism 

Twas a night in late August, and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The front door was locked, and the deadbolt was thrown,
All was safe and secure, in our castle of stone.
 
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Pokemon, danced in their heads.
And mom in her t-shirt, and me in my flannel,
Were watching intently, Discovery channel.
 
When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window, I flew like a flash,
I fumbled as always, the vinyl-clad sash.
 
The moonlight was faint on my manicured lawn,
As I peered through the gloom, and I stifled a yawn.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a vanload of men in full military gear.
 
The young ninja-clad driver was lively, and quick.
He stepped out on the curb, with his door-bashing stick.
With the speed of a cobra, his agents, they came,
As he whistled and shouted, and called them by name.
 
Now Chalmers and Davidson, you take the back,
And when I give the signal, commence the attack.
To the top of the porch men, stay close to the wall,
Now BASH away! BASH away! BASH away all!
 
And then they gained entry, a matter of course.
The doorframe was splintered and shattered by force.
Then up to the housetop, his agents they flew,
In the steady advance, of a well-practiced crew.
 
And soon I heard men at the top of the stair,
That's when my thoughts turned to the kids sleeping there.
So I turned and jumped over my bed in a bound,
As the door was crashed in, I heard "down on the ground". 
 
He was dressed all in black from his head to his toe.
And he wore a broad mask, so his face didn't show.
Then he lined up the sights of the gun he possessed,
Which was clearly a chore in that black armored vest.
 
His eyes-how they twinkled, that's all I could tell,
Of the person who faced me and issued a yell.
"To the ground" he repeated, with hasty precision,
And the bead he had drawn, didn't leave for decision.
 
So silently raging, to carpet I fell,
From my wife there was issued a terrified yell.
While they tore up my bedroom, and left it a wreck,
And I scarcely could breathe for the boot on my neck.
 
From afar in the house I could hear their ransacking,
And as meek as a church mouse a "Daddy, what's happening". 
And with that still small voice, and his cry of alarm,
I resolved a great price, should they bring him to harm.
 
It was then that they read from the warrant they held,
And I struggled to listen, I broke free and yelled.
You idiot bastards, the problem is plain,
This is Worthington Terrace, not Worthington Lane.
 
Well he spoke not a word, but reviewed paperwork.
Then he looked at his underling, called him a jerk.
And then quick as he came, his accomplices rose,
"My mistake", were his words "didn't mean to impose". 
 
Then he sprang to his van, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew, like the down from a thistle.
And I heard him exclaim as the drove out of sight,
"Good thing no one was hurt, and to all a good night". 
 
~A Poem by OWK~

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Short Title: Atheist

From: Bob Dog (bg12345@apexmail.com)
Subject: 'Twas Two Days Past the Solstice 
Newsgroups: alt.religion.christian.methodist, alt.religion.christian.vineyard, alt.religion.christian.pentecostal, alt.religion.christian.presbyterian
Date: 2002-12-24 12:01:34 PST 

'Twas Two Days Past the Solstice
(or, Account of pestering by proselytizers)
by Bob Dog, adapted from Clement Clarke Moore's poem 

'Twas two days past the solstice, and all through the house
Not a person was praying, and no one did grouse
The stockings were tumbling in the dryer with care,
They wouldn't, if hung by the fireplace, there

The children had woken like any other day,
And they dressed for the weather, outside they did play;
Mother reading books, I wearing my team's cap
(For other than football, the day's TV was crap)

Then I heard the sound, for someone did knock,
"At nine in the morning?" I looked at the clock
Got out of my chair and answered the door
For I am neither inhospitable, nor a boor.

I undid the latch and pulled the door wide
And saw a dozen people standing outside,
The fat one spoke to me, his mouth in full gear
While the rest watched my children, with lustful leers

With a lot of old drivel, pretending to be nice,
I knew in a moment he worshipped Satan Christ
More vapid than bullshit, his discourse it came,
And he blathered, and shouted, and called on "Gawd"'s name

"Now, hear me, oh lord, save this atheist's soul
I bring the word of Jeeeezus to this fallen foe
Jeeezus, sweet Jeeezus, let us be heard!"
(I don't think this guy knew more than fifty words)

I thought "What an idiot, this fat old moron,
Common sense and reality, to which he won't cotton,"
So I pointed to the sign that said "No Religion",
But for respect and courtesy, he hadn't a smidgen.

"You must take the lord as your personal saviour"
But I let him know of his offensive behaviour
"If 'god' is so great, why is no evidence found? 
The real rock of ages are fossils in the ground."

Wearing Armani and furs, claimed he cared for the poor
Did donations help the hungry?  That he wouldn't assure
A packful of lies he had by the dozens,
And stood by his third wife - and was she his cousin?

His eyes - how they twinkled with hatred, so very
Evident behind them, this look-a-like Jerry
A troll with a big mouth that liked to bellow,
That led a congregation as white as the snow

The thump of a bible he held tight in his hand,
And had horns on his head, not a halo, or band,
He had a broad smile that was so clearly evil,
And he lived of the back of society, like a weevil.

He was arrogant and vain, true old-time religion
"Get rid of him now" was my only decision
I signalled to my wife with a twist of my head,
To get rid of this man with a neck so red

He spoke far too much, a fascist gone bezerk,
He didn't have the decency to leave, the jerk,
He kept talking "gawd", he'd gone way too far,
When I heard that blessed sound, a police squad car

They were taken away, he was finally leavin',
"GOD WILL RAIN VENGEANCE DOWN UPON YOU, HEATHEN!"
I heard him exclaim, but to my delight,
They were put in the drunk tank for the rest of the night.


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Short Title: Attorney1

Subject:      AHB:  The Night Before Christmas (Attorney's  Version)
From:         Xkarlk@POBoxes.comX (Karl)
Date:         1997/12/26
Message-ID:   <34ae149a.1509562@news.supernews.com>
Newsgroups:   alt.humor.bluesman

[Disclaimer:  I didn't write this, I'm just reposting it.]

'Twas the Night Before Christmas (Attorney's Version)
Excerpted from the NEA Journal, December 1960

Whereas, on an occasion immediately
preceding the Nativity festival,
throughout a certain dwelling unit,
quiet descended, in which could be heard
no disturbance, not even the sound
emitted by a diminutive rodent related
to, and in form resembling, a rat; and

Whereas, the offspring of the
occupants had affixed their tubular,
closely knit coverings for the nether
limbs to the flue of the fireplace in
expectation that a personage known as
St.Nicholas would arrive; and

Whereas, said offspring had become
somnolent, and were entertaining re:
saccharine-flavored fruit; and

Whereas, the adult male of the
family, et ux, attired in proper
headgear, had also become quiescent in
anticipation of nocturnal inertia; and

Whereas, a distraction on the snowy
acreage outside aroused the owner to
investigate; and

Whereas, he perceived in a most
unbelieving manner a vehicle propelled
by eight domesticated quadrapeds of a
species found in artic regions; and

Whereas, a most odd rotund gentleman
was entreating the aforesaid animals by
their appellations, as follows:

"Your immediate co-operation is
requested. Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, and
Vixen; and collective action by you will
be much appreciated, Comet, Cupid,
Donder, and Blitzen"; and

Whereas, subsequent to the above,
there occurred a swift descent to the
hearth by the aforementioned gentleman,
where he proceeded to deposit gratuities
in the aforementioned tubular coverings.

Now, therefore, be ye advised:
that upon completion of these acts,
and upon his return to his original
point of departure, he proclaimed
a felicitation of the type prevalent
and suitable to these occasions, ie:

Merry Christmas to All and to All a Good Night!

-Karl
 alt.humor.bluesman:  When I grow up, I want to be an honest lawyer so things
like that can't happen.  -- Young Richard Nixon on the Teapot Dome scandal
--
To contact me by e-mail, remove all X's from my e-mail address.

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Short Title: Attorney2

  -- THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS, LEGALLY SPEAKING --

 Whereas, on or about the night prior to Christmas, there did occur
 at a certain improved piece of real property (hereinafter "the
 House") a general lack of stirring by all creatures therein,
 including, but not limited to a mouse.

 A variety of foot apparel, e.g. stocking, socks, etc., had been
 affixed by and around the chimney in said House in the hope
 and/or belief that St. Nick a/k/a/ St. Nicholas a/k/a/ Santa Claus
 (hereinafter "Claus") would arrive at sometime thereafter.

 The minor residents, i.e. the children, of the aforementioned
 House were located in their individual beds and were engaged in
 nocturnal hallucinations, i.e. dreams, wherein vision of confectionery
 treats, including, but not limited to, candies, nuts and/or
 sugar plums, did dance, cavort and otherwise appear in said dreams.

 Whereupon the party of the first part (sometimes hereinafter
 referred to as "I"), being the joint-owner in fee simple of the
 House with the parts of the second part (hereinafter "Mamma"), and
 said Mamma had retired for a sustained period of sleep. (At such
 time, the parties were clad in various forms of headgear, e.g.
 kerchief and cap.)

 Suddenly, and without prior notice or warning, there did occur
 upon the unimproved real property adjacent and appurtent to
 said House, i.e. the lawn, a certain disruption of unknown nature,
 cause and/or circumstance. The party of the first part did
 immediately rush to a window in the House to investigate the
 cause of such disturbance.

 At that time, the party of the first part did observe, with some
 degree of wonder and/or disbelief, a miniature sleigh (hereinafter
 "the Vehicle") being pulled and/or drawn very rapidly through the
 air by approximately eight (8) reindeer. The driver of the Vehicle
 appeared to be and in fact was, the previously referenced Claus.

 Said Claus was providing specific direction, instruction and
 guidance to the approximately eight (8) reindeer and specifically
 indentified the animal co-conspirators by name: Dasher, Dancer,
 Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen (hereinafter
 "the Deer"). (Upon information and belief, it is further asserted that
 an additional co-conspirator named "Rudolph"may have been involved.)

 The party of the first part witnessed Claus, the Vehicle and the Deer
 intentionally and willfully trespass upon the roofs of several
 residences located adjacent to and in the vicinity of the House,
 and noted that the Vehicle was heavily laden with packages, toys
 and other items of unknown origin or nature. Suddenly, without prior
 invitation or permission, either express or implied, the Vehicle
 arrived at the House, and Claus entered said House via the chimney.

 Said Claus was clad in a red fur suit, which was partially covered
 with residue from the chimney, and he carried a large sack containing
 a portion of the aforementioned packages, toys, and other unknown
 items. He was smoking what appeared to be tobacco in a small pipe
 in blatant violation of local ordinances and health regulations.

 Claus did not speak, but immediately began to fill the stocking of
 the minor children, which hung adjacent to the chimney, with toys
 and other small gifts. (Said items did not, however, constitute
 "gifts" to said minor pursuant to the applicable provisions of the
 U.S. Tax Code.)

 Upon completion of such task, Claus touched the side of his nose
 and flew, rose and/or ascended up the chimney of the House
 to the roof where the Vehicle and Deer waited and/or served as
 "lookouts." Claus immediately departed for an unknown destination.

 However, prior to the departure of the Vehicle, Deer and Claus from
 said House, the party of the first part did hear Claus state
 and/or exclaim: "Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!"
 Or words to that effect.
 


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Short Title: Auction

Subject:      `Twas the night before Christmas''  Handwritten Goes For $ 211,500
From:         patdwfsyte@aol.com (Patdwfsyte)
Date:         1997/12/06
Message-ID:   <19971206215300.QAA17433@ladder02.news.aol.com>
Newsgroups:   alt.gossip.royalty


`Twas the night before Christmas'' was on the block and all through Christie's
auction house, big bidders were stirring, pushing up the price. A handwritten,
1860 manuscript of the classic Clement Clark Moore poem drew a high bid of
$211,500 Friday, going to buyers who immediately put it on display for
Christmas. The holiday poem, formally titled ``A Visit from St. Nicholas,''
didn't score the highest bid at the auction. That honor went to a condolence
letter from Abraham Lincoln, which sold for $425,000, Christie's spokeswoman
Laurie Dodge said. The Moore manuscript went to dealers Joseph Maddalena and
Seth Kaller, who put it on display for the holidays at Kaller's American
Gallery, located in Macy's Herald Square.  A Beverly Hills manuscript dealership,
Profiles in History, bought the 1862 Lincoln letter, which the president wrote
to the daughter of a friend killed in the Civil War.It read in part: ``In this
sad world of ours, sorrow comes to all; and, to the young, it comes with
bitterest agony, because it takes them unaware.''
 

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Short Title: Auditors

Subject: Tne Night Before Christmas 
Date: 05/02/2000 
Author: Tommy Thompson  
Newsgroup: alt.clearing.technology

Twas the night before Christmas and all thru the zone,
not a creature was stirring, not even a squirrel.
All the stockings were hung by the chimney with care
In the hope that Revenues soon would be there.
 
Then what to my wondering eyes should appear,
A miniature sleigh and ten Class Eights.
A little "Old Man" so lively and clear,
I knew in a moment OT time was near.
 
And more rapid than eagles his auditors all came
As he shouted, "On Specialists" and each auditors's name. 
And so up to the meters the auditors soon flew,
with the sleigh full of Rundowns and Revenius too.
 
Down the dynamics he came with a leap and a bound
He was dressed in a cast, with forgiveness all round.
He spoke not a word but went straight to his work
And filled all the stockings then turned with a jerk.
 
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
then giving a nod up the dynamics he rose.
But I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight
"Merry Christmas to all and to all clear sight".
 
tommy
pthorn1@pacbell.net


 

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Short Title: AusmotianMotorcycle

Subject:      An Ausmotian X-mas tale
From:         "Michael Girle" 
Date:         1997/12/23
Message-ID:   <01bd0ff6$3ee4dec0$20ed8bca@capable>
Newsgroups:   aus.motorcycles

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,
    Not a creature was stirring ...  not even my spouse;
The shockies were hung from the fireplace with care,
    In hopes that Aunt Zebee soon would be there;
The engines were nestled all over the stead,
    While visions of dynokits danced in their heads;
I dimmed the lights as I locked up my desk,
    A nice lengthy ride and a well-deserved rest;
Then all of a sudden there came such a clatter,
    I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,
    What a terrible sound .. like an ovloV, a crash;
The lights they were blinking and beaming aglow,
    Samasvati was whispering "I know, I know";
When what to my wandering eyes should appear,
    On a blazing Ducati ... I managed a cheer;
A little ausmotian, so lively and free,
    I knew in a moment it was Auntie Zebee!
More rapid than Doohan, her angles insane,
    She whistled and shouted like my old rusty chain.

Now, Hansford!  Now, Gleeson!, Now, Byrnes and now Foo!
    On Guzzi!  On Honda, On Yamaha too!

To the top of the apex, the bottom of the knee!
    A thought of good riding, so happy and free!
As memory faded from drops and highsides,
    The 'Zeb' cracked a smile and loosened her tie;
She was chubby and plump, said the place was a shack,
    And I laughed when I saw her (in spite of her ).
A wink of her eye, and a twist of her head,
    Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
She was dressed from her head to her feet in a suit,
    Tiger Angel was heavy with Aunt Zebee's spare loot.

With bundles of bits bulging out of her sack,
    She looked like a fairing with a nice healthy crack.
She spoke not a word, but went straight to her work,
    Reseated valve clearances, then turned with a smirk;
"Give this a spin" and she gave me a shove
    And onto my new bike, I knew it was love.
But I heard her exclaim, 'ere leaving the site,
    "Keep that chain lubed, and all will be right!"

Merry Christmas aus.moto!

Cheers
Michael Girle
CBR 600F

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Short Title: Aviation

Subject:      twas night bfor xmas-aviation style
From:         "Bill Howell" 
Date:         1997/12/19
Message-ID:   <01bd0ca8$1ff60da0$d2fb71ce@bhowell>
Newsgroups:   rec.aviation.ifr

I copied this from our local paper, it was originally posted by Paul Harvey
News in Chicago.  This poem was orginally found taped to a glass display
case at Buffalo Intl Airport, enjoy reading and Merry Christmas!

'Twas the night before Christmas all over the place,
When we were confronted by an old flying ace.
There was icing reported and turbulent air,
He said "File me a flight plan, I gotta get there."
  Outside sat his aircraft all ready to run,
And the old man walked out to that P-51.
"bad weather's no problem," he silently mumbled,
The prop came to life. . . that big Allison rumbled.
  He eased in the throttle, the roar shook the ground,
He taxied on out and he turned it around.
He  went through the run-up and seemed satisfied,
Then he said to himself, "I'm in for a ride."
  So he lined it up straight as he poured on the coal,
The tailwheel came up as he started to roll.
Up off the runway, he sucked up the gear,
And that mighty V-12 was all you could hear.
  He screamed overhead with a deafening crack,
The blue flames were flying from each shiny stack.
He pulled up the nose and started to climb,
No ice on that airframe, it didn't have time.
  On top of the weather with the levers all set,
He looked up above him and saw a Lear jet.
With jet fuel and turbines there just ain't no class,
Gimmee pistons, and props and lots of avgas!
  Now he was approaching where he wanted to go,
But weather had covered the runway with snow.
How will he land it?  We just have to guess,
Because the only way in was a full I-L-S.
  Then over the marker, he started his run,
The ceiling was zero, visibility. . . none.
Still going three hundred and he felt the need,
For an overhead break to diminish his speed.
  Over the numbers he zoomed, along like a flash,
Pulled into his break, we just knew he would crash.
Oh, why do they do it on these kindof nights??
Then over the threshold, we saw landing lights.
  "I'm on a short final with three in the green,
And I see enough runway to land this machine."
Then he tied down that Mustang, and they all hear him say. . .
"Next year, I'm stickin' with my reindeer and sleigh."

--
Bill Howell
bhowell@howellford.com
There is never rest for the wicked, and the good don't need it!

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Last Modified January 7, 2007