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

Compiled by: Matthew Monroe

Archived at:

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

See the Main Index for the complete contents.


Short Title: WindSurfing

From: The Dog (
Subject: Merry Christmas... 
Newsgroups: rec.windsurfing
Date: 2001-12-22 08:45:13 PST 

Twas the night before Christmas, at this The Dog House,
As I sat at the computer, my paw on the mouse.
This poem I was writing, to post here for you,
A Holiday wish as we await the Year New.

So we look at year past, a tough time for most,
unemployment runs rampant, the economy is toast.
But the best we have made of what we've been dealt,
And to many I'm grateful, and your thanks are heart felt.

Now while September eleventh won't soon be forgotten, 
We're strong as a nation, and out to get Bin Laden. 
But before we get wrapped up in the business of war, 
Let's take a quick minute with the sport we adore. 

Cause windsurfing is the thing that drives us all crazy, 
Without it we're lost - just fat, dumb and lazy. 
But when the wind comes up, to the lake we will head, 
For another great session of jibe, jump and shred. 
Of races, and trips, and parties galore, 
Of always left wanting just a little bit more. 

We'd whine and we'd moan that the wind wasn't right, 
then jump on our boards and sail till night. 
Shredding and slashing, the jumps would be tried, 
at the end of the day we'd all be quite fried. 
And I remember each day, hanging out at the beach, 
With cold beer in hand, or doing one final reach. 
And I'd look down the shore, seeing faces of friends, 
Then think to myself, "I hope it never ends." 

So I say one more time, our year is near gone, 
but it all worked out fine, like we said all along. 
I have no regrets, You can be sure of this too, 
I've enjoyed every minute which I've given to you. 
And as I bring to an end yet another year's poem, 
I think of my friends and people I've known. 
I've enjoyed every day that we spent at the beach, 
And I hope you've enjoyed this last Dog House preach. 
So now that it's over, now that I've reached an end, 
May the holiday season find you home safe again. 

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year 
from all of us here at The Dog House 
See ya in 2002!


Short Title: Windsurfing2

Submitted by: Elke Geiger
December 2002

Windsurfer's Night Before Christmas
 by Elke Geiger

On the night before Christmas in the town of Hood River
Not a sailor was sailing, sails all packed in their quivers
The boards were all stowed 'til next windsurfing season
"The water and air's too damn cold" was the reason.

We were just hanging out, having pitchers of beer,
Trying to make it through winter's long drear.
I looked out the window and saw it was cappin'--
I pinched myself to make sure I wasn't nappin'.

I looked down to check out the reads on my pager--
The gradients foretold an oncoming rager.
When I thought there could be no more increase in pressure,
The wind still continued to get even fresher.

The air, it was bone chilling, giving me goose skin,
In a couple of minutes, it was totally nukin'.
If summer were here, we'd be in seventh heaven,
My guess was the wind blew a steady 3.7.

At a time when there's norm'ly a weather inversion,
Damn, if it wasn't St. Nick on excursion!
Helped by huge salmon, he hauled ass on his rig
In a one-Santa Blowout: he was comin' in big!

"Yo Ezzy, Yo Cascade, F2 and DaKine,
Hey Maryhill, Roosevelt, Chinook and HiFly,
To the far side of Swell, to a reach at The Wall,
Now sail away! Surf away! Straight through this squall!"

Then just for fun, he did one helitack,
Two jumps and a loop-- without losing his sack!
Dale Cook and Bruce Peterson had then met their match
When he slammed into shore just downwind from the Hatch.

He went out once more for another quick reach,
Then he lifted his gear and stepped onto the beach.
He said, "Man, I just had myself one crazy ride.
These Gorge winds are some of the best winds worldwide."

He was dressed in a wetsuit that was red with white trim,
From his mast hung some mistletoe, placed on a whim.
He wore neoprene gloves and some neoprene booties,
He mentioned he'd better start in on his duties.

He said he first needed a rest from his sail,
"Do you mind if I join in that pitcher of ale?"
As Santa took a second pint for imbibing,
I mentioned my Christmas wish was to learn jibing.

He had a beard that was natty, a raccoon-eyes tan,
He was strong as a barge, this miracle man…
Then Santa spread 'round lots of holiday cheer
By filling our stockings with windsurfing gear.

He hopped back on his board, leaving from the Marina
His next stop, he said, was some dude's at Rowena.
In accord with tradition, he said last but not least:
"Hey dudes, Merry Christmas!" then he sailed on out East.


Short Title: Witchcraft

Date: 10/14/2000 
Author: OcTavO  
Newsgroup: alt.traditional.witchcraft

Twas the night after blood moon and all through Rogue's place
the little black cat destroyed things with grace.
Through the screen doors the wind made the drapes dance,
and the cat watched the moon as though in a trance.
The Ren poppet was hung by the fire with string
With a six inch steel needle rammed up it's ring.
And on the carved wooden dresser, moving so slow
a little toy Lloyd doll rocked to and fro.
Rogue was nestled all snug in her bed,
whilst leather clad servants danced in her shed.
And snuggled beside her - an englishman sat,
with a laser pen pointer, tormenting the cat.
Suddenly in his head arose an old need:
"Log on to newsgroup... log on and read..."
So he gently kissed Rogue and slipped from the bed
He tiptoed to the computer, quiet as the dead.
He booted it up and a smile crossed his face.
He remembered these people. He remembered this place.
Gargy, Jules, Gman... all were still there,
and Rhy was still sharpening her weapons with care.
Birdtribe was crossposting his usual shit,
and Soliel had a straw to suck on Ren's dick.
Lloyd had returned with a single weakling threat
And not enough money in the world to pay his karmic debt.
So many old faces but new people too!
I'd best introduce myself without further ado.
To all those who know me, I'm back in the game >;)
To all those who don't, OcTavO's the name...
Now before I retire, 
I'd just like to say
Blessed Blood Moon to all,
and to all a good day.


Short Title: Worms

     Christmas Worms
     By Julie Gordon 
     'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house
     not a creature was stirring, not even my spouse.
     I lay still beside him until I heard a snore,
     then I slipped from the bed and out through the door.
     I crept up the hallway and down the front stair;
     I tiptoed to the living room to see what was there.
     And lo and behold, under the tree,
     was a shiny black box labelled to ME!
     I pulled and I pried, and as I lifted the lid,
     I heard a cough from behind, my husband up from bed.
     I stood up and stammered "I-I just couldn't sleep";
     "Mm-hm", answered Don, "well that box'll keep".
     And so I resigned to go back to bed,
     but visions of gifts still danced through my head.
     A new dress, a necklace, a crate full of socks;
     what could possibly be contained in that box?
     A tea set, some perfume, a puppy to keep;
     I ran through the options as I drifted to sleep.
     In the morning I woke from that sleep with a scream;
     creepies and crawlies; I'd had a bad dream.
     And then I remembered just what day it was:
     December 25th, Christmas, of course!
     I ran to the living room to see what I'd get,
     but I wasn't prepared for the sight that I met.
     There were worms in the carpet, worms on the chairs,
     worms in the hallway, worms on the stairs.
     Worms hung from the lampshades and climbed up the walls;
     they infested the kitchen; they crawled through the halls.
     I looked at my husband; on his face was pure shock;
     bewildered he wondered "how'd they escape from that box?"
     And then I remembered that I'd lifted the lid;
     could worms have been what my Christmas box hid?
     "Yes", said my hubby, "it's a vermicomposter";
     under my breath I muttered "I'd as soon have a toaster".
     But alas I was stuck with this so-called 'worm bin',
     So I set about getting those worms back in.
     And now it's one year later, Christmas eve once again;
     my house plants are thriving, I've worm bins times ten.
     Yes, it's true, that black gold sure works like a charm;
     I can't wait 'til my husband opens his brand new ant farm!
                         Revised December 17, 1996
     Published by City Farmer, Canada's Office of Urban Agriculture
                    Canada's Office of Urban Agriculture


Short Title: WPG

From: Taylorchukx (
Subject: Twas' the nite before Christmas 
Newsgroups: wpg.general
Date: 2002-12-24 07:14:01 PST 

Okay..time for a Christmas poem.

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all thru the newsgroup
Not a poster was sending off complaint letters to their ISP's..not
even a single call to the cops or Dr. Laura!

All the letters to the lawyers and Federal regulators were hung by the
fax machine with care....

In hopes that St Jimbo' would soon unload a big wad o' cash from his
bulbous back pocket for all the damage he be' doin to my goodly rep'

The lurkers were all hunkered down in hiding like roaches afraid of the lite
not wanting to get into any newsgroup cat fight

While visions of sugar plum fairies danced in the heads of some
posters...and in others ..visions of the Sun Girl in that hot red
latex number from last week..but I digress'.
And the posters in their cross dressing uniforms ...and I in my thermal gitch
Had just settled down for a long winters ...oh...sorry nothing to ryhme with gitch.

When out on the newsgroup arose such a clatter

I slowly shuffled out of bed and mozied over to the computer to see 
what the F was the freakin' matter!

(just can't get a decent nite sleep with all these damn loud buses....
hog farting harlie motorcycles and other assorted nimrods on the road
with Japanese made turbo thrust mufflers..... but I digress'

So away I rebooted Windows after it crashed again...and I
flew..well..okay...I slowly got up and mozied to the sash and flashed
the neighbors cat....

Tore open my thermal undies and had a quick leak''..but then again I digress'.
The moon on the bre*t...

(oh...ummmm...can we say Br*st on a newsgroup? ..hmmm.... seems
anything related to that word generates hundreds of flame threads.....

Nixnay' that word....

I've always been a butt man lets reword that section...

Somebody hung a moon....yatta yatta... new fallen posts
Gave the lustre of mid day to the dimwads below

When what to my half way interested good eye should appear
But a miniature Shaw cable modem..and 8 tiny fat, greasy Shaw tech
support personnel.

Who knew?

I mean..who freakin' Knew!

With a little fat greasy doofus slow as molasses and thick
as a board....

I knew in moment it was either Nick Hill from that furniture
place...or some
fat old retread from Shaw.

More slower than frozen sewage in the Red River...they came

And the main honcho whistled thru his flabby cheeks...and shouted some
obsenity at me.... and called all his techies' by name...

Now....Doofus in call central'... now Dimwat in abuse first line...and
Cakehole in Second
On Pinhead! On dweeb..on Idiot savant and Blitzed 
To the top of Don's the top of the stairs
Bring back that Damn Shaw modem..and show that ya' cared!


badda bing...badda boom'

End of story...  happy ending....

Please send money.

The End.


Short Title: WWW.Santa.Com

Subject:      A Christmoose Poem For This Newsgroup "Family"
From:         Gerry Ashley 
Date:         1997/12/19
Message-ID:   <>

The Night Before Christmas (Revisited)

'Twas the night before Christmas
and there I just sat,
web-surfing and hoping
for an IRC chat.

My wife was in e-mail
my daughter as well,
my son trying to figure out HTML

When up on the roof
there arose such a clatter!
But we didn't budge, thinking
"What does it matter?"

My daughter thought, "Squirrels"
my wife thought so too.
Son said, "Check it out, Dad"
I said, "Why don't YOU?"

"I'm busy!" he said
"So am I!" I replied.
"I can't get this site up
though God knows I've tried!"

Then down from the chimney
some fat guy appeared
attired in red with
white hair and a beard.

"Yule Greetings!" he cried
with a wink and a stare
I've brought you all gifts!
Come see, if you care!"

We gathered around
in anticipation
but for Santa, 'twas nothing
but endless frustration.

"I asked for a scanner!"
my son said in rage.
I need to scan photos
for my new home page."

"And she wanted Java"
said my wife for my daughter
as she stared at the sweater
and bracelet he'd brought her.

"I needed a browser,"
I said with surprise
Then we saw the sadness,
the tear in his eyes.

"My elves tried their best"
the fat man said sadly.
We all felt just awful for
behaving so badly.

"This web stuff ain't easy"
he said, "I'm still learning."
"In fact it's a web site
and home page I'M yearning."

"It's all so confusing
and daunting to me.
And where I come from
there's no ISP!"

We served him hot chocolate
with cookies and such
at least he was grateful
and thanked us so much.

Then turning his head,
he said, "It's time to go"
But I grabbed his arm
And simply said, "No."

I said "All these years
while I have been living
It's always been you
who's done all the giving."

My wife smiled at me
then I said, "What the hell?
Let's work to build Santa
his own URL!"

For the first time in months
regardless of weather
my family was working
no, playing together.

We built him a web site
with e-mail and more.
A newsgroup, some jpegs
and virtual gift store.

And when we were finished
he looked on in wonder.
He chuckled, then shouted,
voice booming like thunder:

"You've done it!  You've done it!
he shouted with glee.
In truth, there was no one
more happy than me.

"How can I repay you?"
said Santa so dearly
"You already have!"
we all said sincerely.

We knew he was choked up
he spoke while still coughin'
and said "You should really
all get out more often!"

He laughed as he said it
then added, "I'm leaving,
but thanks for the web site
... and thanks for believing!"

And we all heard him say
as his voice broke the calm:
"Merry Christmas! Come visit!"

Copyright 1995 Gerry Ashley
(I have to do that since The Washington Post paid me for this)

Happy Holidays Everyone!


Short Title: XXXPicture

Subject:      Can you stomach one more "Night Before Christmas" knockoff?  :o)
From:         leering@your.sister (Thumper)
Date:         1997/12/06
Message-ID:   <>
Newsgroups:   alt.binaries.nospam.teenfem.d

With apologies to Clement Moore....

The 'Net before Christmas:

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the flat
Not a creature was stirring, not even Lab Rat;
Newsreaders were pointed at abnt
In hopes that new scans were there for all to see;

The Wombles were huddled in front of their 'puters,
With visions of pretty girls showing their hooters;
JennyS in her teddy, and I in my shorts,
Had just settled down for some, uh... winter sports,

When out on the Zip drive there rose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the office I flew like a flash,
Popped open the Zip to see if it was trashed.

But the lovely young girl that appeared on my screen
Gave a lust to my loins such that I'd never seen,
What, out of the corner of my eye did I spy,
But a jovial fellow who seemed pretty spry,

With his bundle of fresh scans, all quite nospamish,
I knew in a moment it could only be Hamish!
As rapid as eagles, more scanners they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Patton! now, Lancelot! now, biGrrl and Ziggy!
On, Rommel! on cityBoy!"  (The scene was quite giddy!)
"With Neutrino on board, there won't be any lags!
Now dash away! Hurry! Start scanning those mags!"

As Hamish distributed mags to his pals,
They got down to business, these guys and these gals,
So off to their flatbeds the scanners they flew,
With their arms full of pictures, that includes Hamish too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard at the door
The knocking that signaled that there were still more.
As I rose from my monitor, turning around,
Who should come through the door but Xanlithe, with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of magazines flung on his back,
He looked better stocked than a London newsrack!.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! His demeanor quite merry!
His cheeks were all flushed, like he'd just popped a cherry!
His droll sense of humor let all of us know,
He'd be scanning like crazy, before the first snow;

The scanning went forward, not missing a beat,
With the used pictures building up piles by their feet;
Old Thumper just marvelled and patted his belly,
That shook, when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.

Being chubby and plump, a right jolly old bunny,
I was taken aback when Womble looked at me funny;
But a wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

Xanlithe spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And scanned all his pictures; then turned with a jerk,
After loading the hard drive with the pictures he chose,
He showed us a few, and our peckers all rose;

Hamish sprang to his car, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, speeding off in his 'Vette,
"Happy wanking to all, and to all a good 'net!"


Short Title: Y2K1

'Twas the Night Before 2000
(Author unknown.)

Twas the night before 2000 and all through the tower, applications were
failing, more by the hour. The programs were running on the mainframe with
care, in hope that the millennium bug was not there.

The programmers were seated in front of their PC's, while visions of blank
paychecks danced in their heads. With Amy in her office and I at my desk, we
had just settled down for a night with no rest.

When up on my screen there arose such a ding, I sprang from my chair screaming
.. "I didn't touch a thing!" Away from my computer I ran real quick, tore open
the drawer and picked up a stick. I glared at the PC, evil and mean, then
realized ... it's just a machine.

What to my wondering eyes should I see, but a miniature window, and a message
for me. With tired eyes, I gave a glance, only hours left .. we don't have a

More rapid than eagles the languages fell, and we whistled, and shouted, and
called with a yell; "Now COBOL! now, NATURAL, Batch and On-Line! Oh, FORTRAN!
Oh SAS! Now CHORE went flat-line!

From the front of my face, to the face of the wall, now bash away! bash away!
bash away all! As the team gathered together for one last try, the word from
management came... "Fix it or die!"

So they sat in their chairs, in the up-right position, with a desk full of
work, and a nasty disposition!

And then, in a dinging, I heard the speaker mention, "Attention, the building,

As he tried to speak the next word, the crashing of the mainframe is all we
heard. The programs were a mess, from start to end. My screen was tarnished
with an ugly abend.

The team assembled, into one huge pack, we looked like hungry wolves, ready to

Our eyes - how they twinkled! Our fingers typed with a clank. Fix Payroll we
said, because our paychecks are blank!

The sweat on my face was falling like rain, while the coding of COBOL drove me
insane! The stump of a pencil I held tight in my hand, I chewed nervously,
hoping I would not get canned!

I coded some Windows and a Bridge too, that took a program from version one to
two. I was tired, weak, and in a delusion state, and I laughed when I saw it,
in spite of fate.

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, soon let me know that bug was not
dead! It spoke not a word, but went straight to work, crashing the remaining
programs, then turned with a jerk.

I placed the cursor next to the bug, pressed the delete key to remove the
little thug. But I heard it exclaim, as I erased the line..... "Happy
Millennium for now, 'cause I'll return in 9999!"


Short Title: Y2K2

from   (among others)

       The Y2K Millennium

T'was the night before Y2K, and all through the nation,
We awaited The Bug, the millennium sensation.
The chips were replaced in computers with care,
In hopes that ol' Bugsy wouldn't stop there.

While some folks could think they were snug in their beds,
others had visions of dread in their heads.
And Ma with her PC and I with my Mac
had just logged on the Net and kicked back with a snack,

When over the server there arose such a clatter,
I called Mister Gates to see what was the matter.
But he was away, so I flew like a flash,
off to my bank to withdraw all my cash.

When what with my wandering eyes should I see?
My good old Mac looked sick to me.
The hack of all hackers was looking so smug,
I knew that it must be the Y2K Bug!!!

His image downloaded in no time at all,
he whistled and shouted, "Let all systems fall!!"
Go Intel! Go Gateway! Now HP! Big Blue!
Everything Compaq, and Pentium, too!

All processors big, all processors small,
Crash away!  Crash away!  Crash away all!!
All the controls that planes need for their flights,
all microwaves, trains, and all traffic lights.

As I drew in my breath and was turning around,
out through the modem, he came with a bound.
He was covered with fur, and slung on his back
was a sack full of viruses, set for attack.

His eyes - how they twinkled!  His dimples how merry!
As midnight approached, though, things soon became scary.
He had a broad little face and a round little belly,
and his sack filled with viruses quivered like jelly.

He was chubby and plump, perpetually grinning,
and I laughed when I saw him though my hard drive stopped spinning.
A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head,
soon gave me to know a new feeling of dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
he changed all the clocks, then turned with a jerk.
With a twitch of his nose, and a quick little wink,
all things electronic soon went on the blink.

He zoomed from my system, to the next folks on line,
he caused such a disruption, could this be a sign?
Then I heard him exclaim, with a loud, hearty cry,
Happy Y2K to all, Kiss your PC's goodbye!!!


Short Title: Y2K3

Date: Thu, 23 Dec 1999 11:05:43 +0000
From: Iain Murray 

  The Night Before New Year - 2000

T'was the night before New Year, and all through the house,
No hardware was stirring, not even a mouse.
Cables were pulled from their sockets with care,
Knowing The Bug soon could be there.

The hard drives were resting all snug in their bays,
For fears that The Bug their files would erase.
The floppies were silent, their shutters closed tight -
Too late to backup now, tonight is The Night!

No e-mail to send, all the servers are down.
The tech support wizards have run out of town.
No surfing tonight, web traffic is low,
Webmasters on holiday - is it something they know?

They claim it's all fixed - "The Bug don't exist!",
But I'm sure there must be something they've missed.
Have they fixed up the code? Have they debugged it all?
Why are they all at present "on call"?

It may be The Bug has just caused a fright?
So Happy New Year to all, and a bug free good night!

Dr. Iain R. Murray,             e-mail:
Lecturer in Applied Computing,  WWW:
University of Dundee, U.K.      WWW:      
Aviation Wisdom #37: Think ahead ... never let an aircraft take you anywhere
     that your brain didn't get to at least five minutes earlier.


Short Title: Y2K4

Originally published in:
The Durham Herald-Sun
Sunday, December 24, 2000
Section E, page 2

'Twas the Night Before ...
by Catherine Shreve of Durham

Twas the night before New Year's
When all through the house
Not a computer was whirring,
Not even a mouse.

The updates were run on all the software,
For fear the millennium soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Pokemon danced in their heads.

And my spouse in his jammies and I in my cap
Had decided we'd sleep through this Y2K crap.
When out in the office there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Opening Windows I clicked like a flash,
Logged into my bank site, transferred all the cash.
The screen like a TV all covered with snow
Gave the office a luster of bluish-white glow

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a two, and three zeroes -- a four-digit year!
With a little print driver so lively and quick;
I knew in a moment it must be St. Fix.

More rapid than WinZip his programs they came.
And whistles and bells rang, commanding them by name:
"Go, Adobe! Go Netscape! Go Lotus and Quicken!
Run, Quick Time! Run, Browser! Run Outlook and Disc Scan!

To be copied to systems beyond the firewall!
Now, cache away, cache away, cache away all!
As little winged toasters on your screensaver do fly,
When they meet with a keystroke, mount to the sky

So up to the menu the programs they flew
With a bundle of upgrades, and St. FixesIt, too.
And then in a twinkling, a noise quite inscrutable
The churning and grinding of each executable

As I drew back in awe and was turning around,
From the icon St. FixesIt launched with a sound.
He was drawn all in Paint from his head to his foot,,
And his pixels were dithered with ashes and soot.

A bundle of games he had flung on his back,
All the extras that might come for free on a Mac.
His flash-dot-gif twinkled! His jpeg how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry.

His browser-safe colors limited the glow,
And the beard oh his chin was as white as the snow.
A truncated pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it configured his head like a wreath.

He had a bitmap for his round little belly
That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right virtual elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.

A wink of his eye and a tweak to the Pentium
Soon we would be ready for the new millenmum.
He spoke not to Word, but went straight to the Works,
And fixed all the programs, then turned from his search.

And pointing his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod to compliance, he closed.
He sprang to the hard drive With his bells and his whisles
Uploading as fast as a heat-seeking missile.

And the screensaver claimed as it hid him from sight,
"If you'd bought a Mac, all would've been right!"


Short Title: Y2K5

Date: 01/01/2000 
Author: *STRIDER*  

Twas The Week After Christmas
Twas the week after Christmas and all through the
House not one PC was working not even a mouse.
I Turned On The Power But Nothing Was Working --
I Grab The Computer And Start Banging And Jerking.
I Laid Out Three Grand For This Big Piece Of Junk
And On January 1st The Damn Thing Went "Kerplunk"!
When I Threw It Out The Window It Made Such A Clatter
My Neighbor Just Called To See What's The Matter.
I Turned On The Tv: The Cable Is Down! My Microwave
Oven Is Making Weird Sounds.
My New Vcr Is As Dead As A Rock -- Not One Light Is
Blinking, Not Even The Clock.
It's Twenty Below The Peak Of Snow Season The Furnace
Won't Work The Pipes Are All Freezing
This Couldn't Have Happened At A Worse Time: I Think I
Have Frostbite On My Behind.
I Laughed For A Second And Thought It All Funny Then A
Call From My Bank In Regards To My Money.
"We Managed Your Pension And Savings With Care But For
Some Odd Reason Your Money's Not There! We Were Y2k
Ready -- We'd Thought We'd Be Heroes -- But Regret To
Inform You Your Balance Is..Zero"!
I Drop The Receiver To The Bathroom I Rush: I Push
Down The Handle -- The Toilet Won't Flush.
I Turn On The Faucet Not One Drop Hits The Sink; I
Head Out The Door To The Pub For A Drink. I Jump In
The Car, Turn The Key In The Switch -- It Only Goes
"Click": I Scream, "Son Of A Bitch!" A Computerized Ignition Has Just Sealed My Fate, Not Set Up For The
"2000" Date.
I Twitch Like A Madman; This Cannot Be True! No Car,
Heat, Or Money: What The Hell Can I Do.
Shouting Obscenities As I Ran Out Of Sight:
Happy Y2k To All! It's Been One Hell Of A Night!

*STRIDER*      Sector Air Raid Warden at /RENEGADE/


Short Title: Yooper1


Note: a Yooper is an inhabitant of Michigan's upper peninsula

                Da Night Before Christmas
   Twas da night before Christmas in dis Yooper house,
      and nuttin' was stirrin', not even our mouse.

        The rest of da family was all fast asleep
        wit' visions of pasties delivered by jeep.

       Da swampers was hung by da chiminey wit care
      in hopes dat Saint Nicolas soon would be dere.

        And in da far corner it was lovely to see
    the Bosch cans and cabbage dat hung from da tree.

       Ma home from the mine and me out on parole,
    she was snuggled in bed; I was perched on da bowl.

      Then alluva sudden da house starts to shudder,
    some nut's on da roof and he broke da rain gutter.

  He jumps down the chimney and swears cause it's tight
      As I hide behind beer cases, way outta sight.

       He lands in da fireplace scorching his hair
    on a busted up orange crate still burning in nere.

   He climbs outta da fireplace and I take a long look,
    he's just like they show him in my coloring book.

   With vodka-glazed eyes and a stomach like a bubble,
   a five-day-old beard and dere's soot on his stubble.

  His teeth when he smiles look like Grampa's weed-saw,
   and he wore tennis shoes big as grizzly bear's paw.

       This old Yooper elf gives me nothing to fear
     as he heads for da kitchen for cookies and beer.

     He kills off a six pack then belches and smirks,
    and reaches into the playdoh sack, ready to work.

          Now under da tree he's starting to set
     the most beautiful presents us Yoopers can get.

    Dere's a new pastymatic and snowblower for mother,
     a steel chainsaw and some swampers for brother.

       Some mud flaps, CB, and new-used weedwacker,
   a helmet and nightshirt dat say "Green Bay Packers".

       He close up da sack and he jumps in da coals
     and hollering "OUCH!", up the chiminey he rose.

     He grunted and groaned as he tossed out his bag
 and cracked such a beer fart (ugh) I'm starting to gag.

       I must watch him leave so I rushes outside,
      I looks up at da roof while in bushes I hide.

    And what does I see when I looks through da twigs?
       A rusted old car body, pulled by eight pigs!

        Santy jumped in and he gave 'em all hell,
 "Let's go all yous pigs, don't just sit there and smell!

           On Mushy and Mushy and Lempy and Joe
     and all a you's others what names I don't know.

         Fly over Negaunee and turn to da right,
      we make Houghton-Hancock before I get tight."

       Then I hear him exclaim with a cynical sneer
     "Pull in at dat Bosch sign, I run outta beer!!"                                     

"Da Night Before Christmas" Printed with permission by "Da Yoopers".


Short Title: Yooper2


Da Night Before da Christmas 
from The Annotated Night Before Christmas, 1991, Summit Books, Martin Gardner (editor)

'Twas the da night before Christmas and all troo da U.P. (1)
Not a Yooper was eating, not even a pasty. (2)
—As you can see, I'll be stretching my poetic license to da limit on dis one.
. . . Anyways.
Da flannel shirts were hung by da sauna wid care
In hopes dat Saint Nick would soon be dare.
Da liddle ones were nestled all snug in dare beds
While visions of ludefisk swan in dare heads. (3)
And Mama in her long-johns and I in my chook (4)
Had just settled our bellies after a plate of chinook, (5)
When out on da lawn dare was dis big sound.
 I jumps out a bed to see wad da heck's goin on.
And out on my front lawn so early in da morn
Is dis small pick-up truck and eight tiny spikehorn (6)
—You see, Santa's on a budget dis year.
. . . Anyways
Da little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knews right dare it must be St. Nick.
Faster dan smelt in spring day came
And he huffed and puffed and called dem by name:
"Now Toivo, Now Aino, Now Sulo and Arvo,
On Larry, On Daryl, On da udder deer Daryl. (7)
To da top of da porch to da top of da wall,
Now dash away dash away dash away all."
I's look back in cause I's hears dis big sound.
Down da chimney St. Nick came wid a bound.
His eye, day did twinkle, his dimples so merry,
His nose was red, probably just came from Trenary. (8)
Da stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And da smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He has dis broad face and a round little belly
Dat shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
Dis guy's got a belly, a red nose, and he smokes 
. . . somebody should check his blood pressure.
. . . Anyways . . .
He doesn't say a ting, just does his job,
And fills all da socks wid corn on da cob.
He sprang to his truck and tells his spikehorns to go,
And away day all flew like it was da middle of hunting season.
But I heards him say as he drove troo da air,
"Happy Christmas, Yoopers," and to all a big "Hey dare!"

1. U.P.: the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, is close to Canada and almost like separate state. It was settled mostly by Scandinavians and Finns who speak a dialect all their own. (BTW, the names Toivo, Aino, Sulo and Arvo, and the mention of "ludefisk"—lipeäkala in Finnish ("lye fish")—are the only hints to any Finnishness in this parody.)
2. Yooper: Michigan residents below the U.P. call its residents Yoopers. There is a bumper sticker that reads: "Say 'ya' to the Upper Peninsula, eh?" Pasty: a meat pie special to the area.
3. Ludefisk: whitefish soaked in brine and drained out. It is a Christmas-time specialty in this area as well as in Scandinavia and Finland.
4. Chook: a stocking cap.
5. Chinoo: a type of salmon found in the Great Lakes.
6. Spikehorn: reindeer.
7. Other Daryl: a reference to the two Daryl brothers in the Bob Newhart television comedy show.
8. Trenary: a village near Escanaba, known for its hospitable bars. 


Short Title: Yuppie1

Subject:      Twas the Night Before Christmas
From:         "Keith E. Sullivan" 
Date:         1997/12/15
Message-ID:   <6757j4$>
Newsgroups:   alt.humor

by Keith Blanchard, from The Princeton Tiger

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all thru' the condo,
Not a creature was stirring whose car had known Bondo.

The Gucci's were hung by the chimney with care
In hopes that the neighbors would notice them there.

The dependents were nestled, all snug in their beds
While Porsches and charge accounts danced in their heads

And my dove and I, watching TV cable stations
Had just settled down to three weeks paid vacation.

When out in the drive there arose such a clamor
My wife lost her place in a story in Glamour.

To the window I had the man run, like a flash
To make sure it was garbage men taking the trash.

But he said, "It's a lawyer, sir, parking his car.
I fear it's a Jetta, and in THIS front yard!

Shall I sound the alarm?"  "Yes, don't let him inside!
My ex must want more alimony," I cried.

But though servants locked windows and barred the front door,
Our defense was as loose as a two-dollar whore.

For just as back in the Jacuzzi I stepped,
A soot-suited man from the fireplace leapt.

"I flew down the flue," he informed, and I sighed.
"That sure puts a damper on things," I replied

He was dressed in a suit, with three pieces and tie,
But I saw he'd forgotten to zip up his fly.

He had a long nose that resembled a dork,
And his beady eyes begged to be poked with a fork.

With only these words, "You poor Ivy-leagued jerk!
This isn't your day!" he went straight to his work.

Beneath the aluminum tree he did crouch,
And took all of our presents to put in his pouch.

The TV's and stereos, jewelry and clothes,
All went into his Hefty, and then he arose.

He crossed the fireplace, turning his back...
And emptied our stockings out into the sack.

But just as I thought that was all I would lose,
He went to the kitchen and drank all my booze.

Then he dumped all our silverware into the bag,
And added the new VCR to his swag.

Our Waterford crystal, our Tiffany lamps,
My son's Telecaster and thousand-watt amps,

My Princeton diploma was yanked off the wall
And twenty sports jackets from out in the hall.

My antique collection, the wife's diamond rings,
He ransacked the house and took all of our things!

But when he had stacked all the bags by the door,
Well, I brought our my Doberman and said, "Listen you boor!

You've invaded our privacy - I know the law!
KILL, Charger, KILL!"  But the lawyer guffawed,

And laying a finger aside of his nose
Gave a honk, and blew snot - all over my clothes.

He grabbed a dry breadstick and took my dog's life,
Then ran to the bedroom and ravished my wife!

Now, I really was peeved! "Sir, I'll see you in court!
You can't do such things to collect nonsupport!"

But he laughed, "Nonsupport?" as he got off my spouse.
"Tomorrow they're coming to take down your house.

And soon the policemen will drag you away.
Your own Uncle Sam's repossessing today!"

"You mean you aren't my ex-wife's attorney?"
I asked, while he loaded my gold Lamborghini.

He laughed as he dashed away into the night,
And tossed a grenade which blew out my porch light.

But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Damn, your wife was awfully tight.

What's more, 'Alimony'??  My Gawd...
Man, you're going to prison for income tax fraud."

Keith's Mostly Clean Humor & Weird (McHaw) List

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Short Title: Yuppie2

Author:   UncleKaper
Date: 1998/12/24
Forums: alt.comedy.standup
Happy Holidays!
I like to call this "A Yuppie Christmas Poem"

'Twas the night before Chrstmas
And All Through the heavily mortgaged house
Not a creature was stirring
Not even the Imac's mouse.

The Deductions lay nestled
all snug in designer sheets
Done up in Baby Gap
From their heads to their feet.

After six double lattes
and a soccer mom's crap
I had to take a Halcion
To get my winters nap.

Then all through the house
there arose such a bay.
Like the muffled moans of Ellen
on the night Anne went gay.

The noise kept on
Through the house I went walking
I traced it to the tree
where a Furbee was talking.

It wouldn't shut up
It's mouth all agape
I immediately wondered
where we kept the tape.

It gave me a headache
My eyes could not see
I grabbed the little bastard
and impaled it on the tree.

Much to my horror
the toy kept rambling
while my friends without kids
were in Vegas gambling.

Out the door I flew
with the Furbee in tow
I figured I could bury it
out in the snow.

I saw the minivan in the drive
and thought of my family in bed
that's when I realized
I wanted it dead.

Under a tire it went
I stepped on the gas
As I sped of to Vegas
I cried "Interactive my ass!"

Happy New Year.


Short Title: Zepmas(LedZepellin)

Author:   Lee McCauslin
Date: 1998/12/24
By Harlen Leroy McCauslin III

'Twas the night before Zepmas, when all through the cottage
The Zeppelin was blaring (at voluminous wattage!);
The stockings were hung in our britches with care,
In hopes that the chicks will think there's something there;
The guitars were nestled all snug on their stands,
(Cuz too much practicing had caused some sore hands);
And mamma in her 'nightie, and I in my thong,
(The kids were at Grandma's.  What could go wrong?),
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 flasher,
(Ooops! Better close up the robe, you big masher).
The moon on the breast (heh-heh, "breast" made me snicker)
Gave the lustre of mid-day to my Zep bumper-sticker.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature zeppelin, and a guy with a beer.
He had some backpacks, with three circles on 'em,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Bonham.

More rapid than eagles his sLed dogs they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, BONZO! now, RAIN SONG! now, LEVEE and MOBY!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! (Careful! Don't fall!)"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with New Orleans, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the sLed dogs they flew,
With the packs full of bootlegs, and St. Bonham too.

And then, in a sprinkling of sLed dogs, I heard,
They not only sprinkled, they also left turds!
As I drew in my hand, and I reached for my gun,
Down the chimney St. Bonham came like a hun.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his shoes,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and booze;

A bundle of Third Eyes he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, (He'd been drinking sherry)!
On top of his head, he wore a droog bowler,
And his beard was quite sweaty from a long drum solo;
The stump of a drumstick he held tight in his fist,
(He'd been trying to hit cymbals.  He must not have missed);
He had a broad's face tattooed on his belly,
That squinched, when he laughed, like she thought it was smelly.

His chubby was plump, (I couldn't help see),
And I laughed (It was HUGE when compared to me!);
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know he was hip to the Led;
He spoke not a word, (seems he doesn't like prose),
And filled all the stockings; (but not with *his* hose!),
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his zeppelin, to his team gave a holler,
And away they all flew (I wanted to foller!).
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,



Short Title: Zogmas

From: Raddion (raddion@drunk.skunk)
Subject: Re: 'Twas the night before Zogmas 
Newsgroups: alt.rock-n-roll.metal.oldschool
Date: 2003-12-24 11:43:09 PST 

"++Captain Tripps++"  wrote in message

'Twas the night before Zogmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the plasma with care,
in hopes that some kiddie porn soon would be there;

The children were tied up all snug in Zog's bed,
While visions of prison-break danced in their heads;
And mamma in her diaper, and Zog in his cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
Zog sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window Zog 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 agents below,
When, what to his wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so ugly and slow,
Zog knew in a moment it must be Dio.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, RITCHIE! now, TONY! now, ALDRICH and GOLDY!
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 house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of porn, and the old singer too.

And then, in a twinkling, Zog heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of band members hooves.
As he drew in his hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney old Dio came with a bound.

He was dressed all in black, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of porn he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedophile opening his pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his wrinkles how merry!
His cheeks were all sunken, his nose was all hairy!
His troll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a thumb he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a hags face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was shriveled and gaunt, a right ugly old elf,
And Zog laughed when he saw him, in spite of hisself;
A two fingered sign and a twist of his head,
Soon gave Zog to know he had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; and gave Zog a jerk,
Then placing his finger inside of his nose,
And flicking a booger, 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 Zog heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,


++Captain Tripps++

"I've only been in love with a beer bottle and a mirror."  -Sid Vicious
"I DOUBT IT!!" -The Duke of Doubt
"I think I am gonna have a bowl of cigarettes and milk" - Tripps


Matthew Monroe in Richland, WA

Last Modified January 7, 2007