Canonical List of 'Twas the Night Before Christmas Variations
Version 2007.1
Part 13 of 50
January 7, 2007

Compiled by: Matthew Monroe

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: CrossDressing

From: Shae Guerin (shae@tic.ab.ca)
Subject: Xmas poem revisited 
Newsgroups: alt.fashion.crossdressing
Date: 2002-12-23 14:55:05 PST 

Here's a little refrain from alt.fashion.crossdressing last year; if you 
will read it with the rhyme and rhythm of the original poem, I think you 
will have some fun with it.

  'Twas the night before Christmas, and all thru the house
   I was making my plans to look more like my spouse
   I carefully laid out my very best clothes
   My bra and my panties, my slip and my hose

   My stockings weren't hung by the chimney tonite
   They were on me instead, feeling sensually tight
   My dress was of velvet, a burgundy red
   And on my long nails a new polish was spread

   With makeup and jewelry, high heels on my feet
   I was looking so sexy, and feeling so sweet
   When out in the yard there arose such a noise
   That I sprang from my bedroom, forgetting my poise

   The moon on the snow with it's brilliant white glitter
   Reminds me of lace, to set my heart a-twitter
   When what to my long-lashed eyes should appear
   But a person in red with a sleigh and reindeer

   But I couldn't tell, was it a 'he' or a 'she'
   The one with the pack was dressed somewhat like me
   There in the sleigh was this 'cutsey' old flirt
   With a white wig and makeup, a red blouse and skirt

   The reindeer were sparkling, with rhinestones and pearls
   And their antlers in ribbons, so they all looked like girls
   When s/he stepped from the sleigh, to my eyes were revealed
   Her knee-hi black boots with their seven-inch heels

   Santa just blushed, but I stood there and smiled
   And said, "Hello, my dear, can you stay for awhile?"
   "Well you finally caught me", he said with a pout
   "At this time on Christmas, folks are seldom about."

   "I don't go enfemme very ofen at home,
   Mrs Clause doesn't like it, so I do it alone.
   "So when I give out goodies to make others smile
   "I like to feel pretty and femme for awhile."

   "So I ride off dressed up, from my hi-heels to wig,
   "On Christmas eve night while I'm doing my gig."
   I said, "Don't worry Santa, your secret is safe
   Why don't you come in and just freshen your face."

   We sat and we talked and vented our passion
   For feminine frills and the latest new fashions
   We finally parted with a hug and a kiss
   S/he said, "I must go now, or some children I'll miss"

   I went to my party and had a great time
   With music and laughter and good food and wine
   But when I returned and looked under my tree
   I found some new pretties from sweet Santa to me

   Lacy panties, a bra and a soft satin blouse
   Perfumes and some candles to light up my house
   But it wasn't the goodies that swept away my blues
   It was knowing that Santa was a crossdresser too

   So next time don't judge all the people you meet
   By what they are wearing when out on the street
   For in being onesself, there's no 'wrong or right'
   Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night

with thanks to:
dawn_dctg@worldnet.att.net

-- 
Have fun,
Shae

shae@tic.ab.ca
http://www.tic.ab.ca/~shae/
http://ca.profiles.yahoo.com/shae2001ca
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/closetedcrossdresser/


************************************************************
************************************************************


Short Title: CrossroadsOfTwilight(RobertJordan)

From: Kenneth G. Cavness (kenn@cavness.org)
Subject: A Hastily Contrived Poem 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.sf.written.robert-jordan
Date: 2002-12-24 07:46:40 PST 

So, don't knock it too much; I thought of it in the shower.

'Twas the Crossroads of Twilight, when all through the text,
Not a plotline was stirring; no-one knew what came next.
The characters were stuck in a quagmire of haze
Hoping that Jordan their arcs he would raise.

The Darkfriends were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of completion danced in their heads;
And though they had been through all this shit before,
They felt they could give him this last chance -- no more!

When out on the 'froup there arose such a clatter,
I flicked on my monitor to see what was the matter!
Away to the newsgroup I flew like a flash,
Clicked on Gravity; then started to mash.

The keys on the keyboard of the much-abused machine
Were going so fast, my eyes were agleam
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a gigantic tome, through which I could peer.

The annoyance of lesser novels all past
I tore open the book and let the time fly.
More rapid than I could have thought the words came
But as I read further, I thought, "this is lame!"

"Where's Nyneave! Where's Masema? Where's Rand, Mazrim too?
 Where's Moiraine, and Merrilin; Mat's still with the ZOO!?
 What the fuck have you done for the past two years, Bob?
 My three-year-old-neice could write this better, you slob!"

He was chubby and plump, a right portly old man,
And I cringed away when he noticed I saw him.
A wink of his eye, a twisted, huge grin,
I saw at once that I'd been taken in.

He spoke not a word, merely forming an "L"
He placed it against his bright, pallid brow
And pointed a mocking finger, he did
Soon gave me to know he'd done it again.

He sprang to his Porsche, to his man a command,
And away Rigney sped 'afore the series could end.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove through the night,
"I'VE GOT YOUR MONEY, SUCKER; NOW GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!"


************************************************************
************************************************************


Short Title: Cthulhu

From: Arthur Levesque (bs@boog.orgASM)
Subject: 'TWAS THE CALL OF CTHULHU 
Newsgroups: alt.horror.cthulhu, alt.coven.cthulhu, alt.sex.cthulhu
Date: 1998/12/01 

'TWAS THE CALL OF CTHULHU
By Arthur Levesque -- bs@boog.org -- http://boog.org
(A parody of "'Twas the Night Before Christmas")

'Twas the Call of Cthulhu, all the stars were right
Every artist was stirring was odd dreams all night
Elder signs were hung at Miskatonic U
In hopes it would save them from Great Cthulhu

The Deep Ones were gathered on the ocean beds
While dreaming of feasting on raw human heads
Our schooner on the South Seas, on her maiden cruise
Had just battened down for a long drunken snooze

When out on the sea the waves started to splatter
I jumped from my bunk to see what was the matter
Away to the porthole I tripped and I fell
I jumped up and looked out and cursed "What the hell!"

The moon on the beach as a new island rose
Gave more light than I wanted; I looked and I froze
When what to my gibbering sight should appear
But an old eldritch city with angles so queer

With a mountain of blubber, green viscuous slime-goo
I knew by some instinct it was Cthulhu!
More rapid than serpents his tentacles came
And we heard in our heads as he called out some names

"Now Wilbur!  Young Whately!  Lavinia!  Yog-Sothoth!
Come minions from Innsmouth and Fungi from Yuggoth!
From Mountains of Madness to this humble blue ball
Now slash away, crash away, smash away all!"

As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly
My crew beat a rapid retreat and so did I
Then out of his prison called Great Cthulhu
With plans for all of us that we somehow all knew

And then in a twinkling I saw mankind's fate
All dancing and bowing on his dinner plate
As I ducked down my head and was turning around
From the mongrel ship's engineer came an odd sound

He walked up to a star hanging on this big door
But the angles were all wrong, it might have been floor
A matter of seconds, he ripped off the seal
He had done it so quickly I had no time to squeal

My eyes, how they gibbered!  My screaming, so eerie!
Great Cthulhu was loose, what could be more scary?
His bright angry eyes, all his tentacles loose
My first mate disappeared down an angle obtuse

The rest of the crew made it back to the boat
Cthulhu, he followed us as we set afloat
He had great bat wings, the head of a squid
I can't even describe the next few things he did!

He was chubby and plump, head big as a villa
And I knew when I saw him, he'd eat Godzilla
A wink of an eye and a twitch of his head
Grabbed him twelve crewman, all better off dead

He spoke not a word but came straight on fast
And ate all the others and left me for last
Him chewing his dinner, I reversed my ship
And crying a curse rammed his gigantic hip

He burst into a fog and his island went down
But he reformed again before I could turn around
Then I heard him exclaim as he sank out of sight
"This ain't the last time all the stars will be right!"

-- 
/\       Arthur Levesque 2A4W <*> bs@boog.orgASM =/\= http://boog.org __
\B\ack   King of the Potato People  "Ia! Ia! Cthulhu fhtagn!" (oO)
 \S\lash Member of a vast right-wing conspiracy (-O-) Urban Spaceman /||\
  \/     I was a lesbian before it was fashionable  "I hate rainbows!"-EC


************************************************************
************************************************************


Short Title: CyberspaceSanta

Subject: Santa in Cyberspace
Date: 12/8/00

Much of how we imagine Santa derives from Clement Clark Moore's
"Twas the Night Before Christmas", written in 1823. At the risk of getting
on Santa's naughty list, humorist and cartoonist Michael Shaw chronicles a
Claus makeover for 2000, as the digital world reshapes even our holidays"

  Santa In Cyberspace

"Twas the month before Christmas
and all through the house
Not a PC was stirring, not even a mouse.
It seemed that Santa had lost his cachet
And the notion of Christmas? Rather passe'.

The children had not even written their letters,
"Give us a break", they cried, "E-mail is better!"
And mom, watching Martha, had to agree
As she wrote down a recipe for St. John's Wort tea.

Yeah, they are right, Dad thought with a sigh,
Santa's shtick is tired - he's a no happenin' guy.
But little did they know that up at the North Pole
St. Nick himself was searching his soul.

He gathered his elves for brainstorming sessions.
"We're rebranding Santa!" he told his little green hessians.
They sketched action plans and assembled the troops,
Brought in consultants and arranged focus groups.

A motivational speaker with shiny big teeth
Exhorted our man "to awaken the Kringle beneath!"
Santa's diet was Atkin's, his workouts aerobic
He popped pills of palmetto, ginkgo and garlic.

He abandoned his fur trim for a fun, festive boa.
Centered his chi and poliched his aura.
Even the reindeer were restless and nervous
As they were given the name of an outplacement service.

In flew image gurus and Mad Ave's best brains
And in just a week they'd launched the campaign.
A message was spammed throughout the Net:
"Prepare yourself for the phatest Claus yet!"

So a newfangled Santa did every talk show
From Regis to Oprah - and even Leno.
His neatly trimmed goatee had a certain allure,
and that tailored red jumper? The hautest couture.

Santa said "I've broomed that old chimney routine,
Now I only do Windows, if you know what I mean.
No more bundles and props from that tired old part,
The Claus Operation is is awesome, state-of-the -art!"

The kids went wild for the brand-new St. Nick
Even mom had to notice his health-club physique
And dad was impressed, he had to admit,
Even ordered his book "Claus: The Man and the Myth."

Now 'tis 11:05 on the 24th
The packages are rushing down from the North,
The kids just can't sleep - when will they arrive?
Santa's sending this cookie to every hard drive:

"Here's one last message before I go,
A Merry Christmas dot com! One last IPO!"



************************************************************
************************************************************


Short Title: DaveBarry

Subject:      Christmas Humor (long)
From:         dn124@FreeNet.Carleton.CA (Jason Mole)
Date:         1997/12/09
Message-ID:   <66k073$d2@freenet-news.carleton.ca>
Newsgroups:   ncf.sigs.religion.pagan

'Twas the Night before the Morning After
    by Dave Barry

'Twas the Night Before the Morning After Christmas
Or Hanukkah or Kwanzaa or whatever religious holiday your particular family
unit celebrates at this time of year via mass retail purchases
And all through the house
Not a creature was stirring
Except Dad, who was stirring his third martini
In a losing effort to remain in a holiday mood
As he attempted to assemble a toy for his 9-year-old son, Bobby
It was a highly complex toy
A toy that Dad did not even begin to grasp the purpose of
A toy that cost more than Dad's first car
A toy that was advertised relentlessly on TV with a little statement in the
corner of the TV screen that said "SOME ASSEMBLY REQUIRED"
Which was like saying that the Titanic sustained "some water damage"
Because this toy had more parts than the Space Shuttle
And speaking of space, Dad was now convinced that extraterrestrial life did indeed exist
Because the assembly instructions were clearly written by beings from another galaxy
And these beings insisted on Phillips screwdrivers
And Dad could not find his Phillips screwdriver
In fact, he was wondering who "Phillips" was
And why he needed a different kind of screwdriver than everybody else
That was the festive holiday thought that Dad was thinking as he took a slug
from his martini and attempted to attach Part 3047-b to Part 3047-c using a steak knife
But other than that, not a creature was stirring in the house
Although Mom was definitely stirring OUT of the house
Mom was at the Toys "R" Us store
In fact, this was the fifth Toys "R" Us store that Mom had been to that night
In her desperate quest to find the one thing that their 5-year-old daughter,
Suzy, wanted this holiday season
It was, of course, a Barbie doll
But not just ANY Barbie doll
It had to be the new model
Abdominals Barbie
The one who came with her own little pink stomach-muscle-exercise device
It was the hottest Barbie doll of all this holiday season
Every girl age 3 through 12 in the entire United States HAD to have it
Or her holiday season would be RUINED
And so of course the Mattel Corporation
Which is run by evil trolls from hell
Had manufactured exactly eight units of this doll
And the very last one in the world was in this particular Toys "R" Us
Which means that the odds were against Mom
Because on this same festive night
Thousands of other frantic parents had converged on this same store
Kind of like the flesh-eating zombies in the movie Night of the Living Dead
Only less ethical
The store was a war zone
Mom had to fight her way into the doll aisle
Where, wielding a Tonka Truck like a club
She claimed her prize
And then, trailed by a screaming mob of rival parents
She raced from the store, leaped into her car and roared out of the parking lot
Barely missing the Salvation Army person
She raced back to the house, burst through the front door and staggered into the family room
Where she found Dad
Actually she found Dad's feet
The rest of Dad was under the sofa
A strange gurgling sound was coming from down there
Dad, now on his fifth martini
Was trying to strangle the dog
Which, Dad was convinced, had eaten Part 8675-y
And just at that very moment
Out on the lawn there arose such a clatter
That Dad let go of the dog
And he and Mom went to the window to see what was the matter
And what to their wondering eyes should appear
But Santa Claus, yelling the names of reindeer
"Now Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Vixen! Now . . . Umm . . . Now . . . Dancer!"
"He already said Dancer," observed Dad
"He can't remember them all," said Mom
"I think one of them is Pluto," said Dad
"Wasn't Pluto the guy who was always fighting with Popeye?" said Mom
"You're thinking of Bluto," said Dad
"Now . . . Umm . . . Now Flicka!" said Santa
"Flicka was a horse, that I DO know," said Mom
"Do you think the reindeer are wrecking the lawn?" said Dad
"They're going up on the roof," said Mom
"Like hell they are," said Dad, who had recently spent $875 on shingle
repair
But before he could yell at St. Nicholas to stop
Down the chimney the jolly elf came with a plop
He had a broad face and a round little belly
That shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly
Which was pretty gross
"What's so funny?" asked Dad
"You two," said St. Nick. "Why are you getting all upset about toys? The
holiday season isn't about material possessions!"
"Do you have kids?" asked Mom
"Well, no," said Santa
"Hah," said Mom
"But I am beloved by children the world over," said Santa
"Well," said Dad, "you won't be beloved by our son if I can't assemble
this toy"
"What seems to be the problem?" said Santa, coming over to have a look
"I'm stuck on Step 824," said Dad
"Who wrote these instructions?" asked Santa. "Martians?"
"Apparently," said Dad
"I used to be pretty good with tools," said Santa. "Hand me that steak
knife"
"Sure," said Dad. "Care for a martini?"
"Heck yes," said Santa
And so he went to work
And after a while Mom and Dad, exhausted, went to bed
Leaving old St. Nick in the family room
He said some pretty unsaintly words
But he eventually got Bobby's toy assembled
And although he spent so much time that he was unable to visit the rest of
the little boys and girls
in North America
Not to mention South America, Europe, Asia and Africa
This particular household had a very happy Christmas morning indeed
When Suzy came downstairs and saw Abdominals Barbie
And Bobby came downstairs and saw his incredibly complex toy
Which he broke in under four minutes
A new holiday record
But it was still a festive day
Especially when Mom and Dad told the fantastic story of their late-night
visitor
Which, at first, the kids did not believe
In fact, even Mom and Dad were not 100 percent sure it had happened
Until Dad got out the ladder
And one by one they climbed up to the roof
And there they saw it . . .
As real as life . . .
A Holiday Miracle . . .
Reindeer poop.
(And $1,097.36 worth of shingle damage.)


************************************************************
************************************************************


Short Title: Deadlines

Author:   KLrebel
Email: klrebel@aol.com
Date: 1998/10/29
Forums: alt.fan.dragons

Twas the night before deadlines
When all through the lair,
There came a scream
Of pain and despair.

Next to a desk
Hunched over a keyboard
Was a black dragon
Using Microsoft Word.

"Woe is me!"
The black dragon cried,
"My printer is trashed,
The program has died!

After weeks of planning,
And hours of typing,
My printer won't work!"
She continued griping.

"How can I finish?
My project is due,
From half past twelve,
To a quarter to two!

It just isn't fair,
For me to fail
This project, when I've worked
Through snow, sleet and hail!"

She rebooted and rebuilt,
She installed and trashed
All the programs that were
Simply pains in the ass.

And still her printer
Refused to give out
The essay she needed
To pass: how she'd shout!

Finally, in a flash
Of inspiration,
She redid the whole thing
And had a celebration!

For it printed! It spat out
Her essential essay.
"Hooray!" She cried.
"This is my lucky day!"

"Now I can finally
Get back to sleep!"
But it was too late,
She was in it too deep.

Because in her trials
During the night,
The hours had passed
Into late morning light!

And so off to school
She went with a sigh.
But where is the essay?
She left it home! Aye!

-------
Merinasanith K'tell Sorellan
"For the last time, Mulder, the truth is NOT out there!"
DC.?(D) f+ s(RL--VR+) h++ CMKwS a- $ m d+ WL++# Fr L BF e++ g-- i+!

************************************************************
************************************************************


Short Title: DepartmentStore

from http://www.spring-tree.com/christmas.html
                                      
                     'Twas the month before Christmas,
                         and all through the store,
                     Each department was dripping with
                              Yuletide decor.
                The Muzak was blaring an out-of-tune carol,
            And the fake snow was falling on "Ladies' Apparel."

             I'd flown many miles from the North Pole this day,
              To check on reports which had caused me dismay.
             I'd come to this store for but one special reason,
                To see for myself what went on this Season.

                   I hid in a corner and in a short while
              He shouted an order to "Turn the store tree on!"
                 And also the "NOEL" in blinking pink neon.
             Up high, grandly hanging from twin gold supports,
             Four hundred pink angels flew over "Men's Shorts."
                   And towering over the Rear Mezzanine,
                    A 90-foot Day Glo "Nativity Scene."
              The clock on the wall said two minutes to Nine,
                The floorwalkers proudly all stood in line.
          I watched while the President smelled their carnations,
           Then called out his final command-"Man Your Stations!"
                                      
              When out on the street there arose such a roar,
            It rang to the rafters and boomed through the store.
              It sounded exactly like street-repair drilling,
                    Or maybe another big Mafia killing.
                                      
              I looked to the doors, and there banging glass,
                Was a clamoring, shrieking, hystericalmass.
          And I felt from the tone of each scream and each curse,
         That the "Spirit Of Christmas" had changed for the worse.
                                      
            The clock it struck Nine, and the door opened wide,
              And that great human avalanche thundered inside.
                More fearsome than Sherman attacking Atlanta
            Came parents and kiddies with just one goal-"Santa!"
                                      
          In front stormed the mothers, all brandishing handbags,
                 As heavy and deadly as 20 pound sandbags.
           With gusto they swung them, the better to smash ears,
              Of innocent floorwalkers, buyers, and cashiers.
                                      
              Egged on by their parents, the kids had one aim,
                  To get to the man who was using my name.
            They mobbed him and mauled him, the better to plead,
            For the presents they sought in their hour of greed.
               The President watched with a gleam in his eye,
           As he thought of the toys that the parents would buy.
            Of all Christmas come-ons, this crowd would attest,
               That a visit to "Santa" was clearly the best.
                                      
                It was all too much for my soul to condone,
                 And I let out a most unprofessional moan.
           The crowd turned around, and I'll say for their sake,
                That they knew in an instant I wasn't fake.
                                      
           "I've had it," I told them, "with fast-buck promoting,
            With gimmicks and come-ons and businessmen gloating.
                This garish display of commercialized greed,
             Is so very UN-Christmas, it makes my heart bleed!"
                                      
                   Frank Jacobs, Mad Magazine, Jan 1969.

************************************************************
************************************************************


Short Title: Depressed

Subject:      'Twas the Night Before New Years
From:         "Pooh" 
Date:         1997/12/14
Message-ID:   <6713f5$9qa@nnrp1.farm.idt.net>
Newsgroups:   alt.support.depression

'Twas the night before New Years, when all through the house
The voices were calling, we're the cat and your the mouse.

All the razorblades were hidden and I'm tucked in bed
With visions of friends and loved ones dancing on my head.

When all of a sudden the clock, it stuck 11
Then from under my bed I heard, your in hell not heaven.

I jumped from my bed to see if it was true,
But I never made it to the widow, 'cause I heard you know who.

I ran to the door yelling, chase me if you want
For I'd hidden the razors and knifes, so I can't do that stunt.

But I heard the cats exclaim as I ran down the street,
We have claws and teeth, we can't be beat.

I knew I must run, I knew I must hide
But those darn cats had a stolen a ride.

My shinny red 55 Chevy that look like a cherry
They tore around the corner, for me they did meant to bury.

But all of a sudden like a shot in the night
They threw a rod and lit up like a light.

For want they didn't know was I rigged it to blow
I was going to end for once and all, if you must know.

As I walked into the night I heard a new voice, I shuddered and froze
It did laugh you made it this year, but next, who knowz!

Pooh
     --  silly old bear

************************************************************
************************************************************


Short Title: Deryni(FantasyBook)

From: Mary Alice Kropp (mak@thirtytwopaws.com)
Subject: A Deryni Night Before Christmas 
Newsgroups: alt.books.deryni
Date: 2001-12-24 17:59:44 PST 

As my gift to the newsgroup:
(With apologies to Clement Clark Moore)

  A Deryni Night Before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas and all thru the castle
Not a creature was stirring- not lord, lady or vassal.
The stockings were hung by the hearthside with care
In hopes that St. Camber soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of Christmas sweets danced in their heads.
And I, in my nightshift and warm sleeping fur
Had just settled down, not till morning to stir.

When out in the keep, there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter!
Bundled in cloak, furred slippers on feet,
I took my lord's sword, this intruder to meet.

First to the window, where waiting in snow
Were four golden angels, aligned in a row.
My mind all a-wonder, a noise at my back
Caused me to turn, sword raised for attack.

A figure stood by, robed and cowled in grey,
"Who goes?" I cried- he had nothing to say.
But drew back his cowl, letting golden aura appear
To give me to know I had nothing to fear.

He spoke not a word
Still a voice soft I heard:
"This is the feast of our Lord Savior's birth.
Now we must see what your future is worth.

I give you a gift on this special day
To spread peace and joy as you go on your way.
For it must begin with each single one
Or war, hatred and fear will never be done."

He reached out to touch a hand to my brow
I looked again- no one there now.
I ran to the window- the angels aloft
Were singing a song both lovely and soft.

I heard them exclaim as they rose out of sight:
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a Good Night!"

	I hope everyone has a wonderful Christmas (or Hanukah, Yule, Solstice,
	Kwanzaa or whatever other celebration you choose) and a happy, healthy and
	prosperous New Year!
	
	-Mak

************************************************************
************************************************************


Short Title: Detectorist

From: Sgt Pulltab (chris@SPAMKILLERchoxnpinz.com)
Subject: Detectorist's Night Before Christmas 
Newsgroups: alt.treasure.hunting
Date: 2002-12-23 15:29:39 PST 

I wrote this last year but it's worth another post...

'Twas the night before Christmas
and all through the place
It was damn near dead quiet
My mind started to race?

Ain't nobody here,
Lots of time for reflecting,
But all that can wait,
Cause I'm going detecting!

I grab my detector,
A scoop for the sand,
My Lesche extractor
I got from Lucky Dan's

I head out to the car
To look for an old site
If I'm uninterrupted
I'll just hunt through the night

I pulled up right next to
An old carnival place
The coins in the dirt
I started to chase

The tones in my headset
Were filling my ear
Sweet silver and gold
Buried right under here

I pinpointed my target
And started a hole
I was six inches down
Digging just like a mole

When a guy comes up
From behind me and said
What the hell are you doing?
Are you out of your head!

I turned on my knees 
Expecting police
It was Santa, by George
And I yelp I released!

I'm real sorry Santa
I was home all alone
So I figured detecting
Would warm up my old bones

He smiled as he turned
To open his sack
When he bent over I saw
His pants split up the back

So he's into detecting
I saw right away
My first MD pants
Looks exactly that way

He pulled out a Minelab
With a white Kevlar rod
With THAT I could cover
A whole field of sod

He also pulled out
A few rolls of Mercs
And some Liberty halves
Then he started to smirk

These goodies are yours
But I'm gonna be sporty
Turn your back and then count
From one up to forty

I turned and I counted
Like he told me to do
When I turned back around
He was gone! The coins too!

The Minelab was laid
With its coil straight ahead
So I lifted it gently
And sweet tones filled my head

So THAT'S what he meant
He had made the job hard
The silver was buried
All over the yard

Coin after coin
The Lesche did dig up
Til my apron was full
And my knees just gave up

Now MY sack was full
Of the old silver rounds
I swear my loot bag
Must have weighed fifteen pounds!

He hadn't shown me
THIS many Mercs
It was then that I realized
How Claus magic works

Each coin used to be
An old beaver pulltab
But his magic had changed it
To what's now in my bag

A sleigh flashed by
With Santa onboard
I waved to thank him
For my great Christmas hoard

And I heard him say
In a voice loud and bold
Merry Christmas detectorists,
May all your targets be gold!


************************************************************
************************************************************


Short Title: Dictionary1

Newsgroups: rec.humor
Subject: Night Before Christmas
Message-ID: 
From: skoper@netcom.com (Stan Koper)
Date: Thu, 16 Dec 1993 18:46:00 GMT
Sender: skoper@netcom.com (Stan Koper)
Organization: NETCOM On-line Communication Services (408 241-9760 guest)


Ecstatic Yuletide

'Twas the nocturnal segment of the diurnal period preceding the 
annual Yuletide celebration and throughout our place of residence, 
kinetic activity was not in evidence among the possessors of this 
potential, including that species of diminutive rodent known as 
Mus musculus.

Hosiery was meticulously suspended from the forward edge of the 
wood-burning caloric apparatus, pursuant to our anticipatory 
pleasure regarding an imminent visitation from an eccentric 
philanthropist among whose folkloric appellations is the honorific 
title of St. Nick.

The prepubescent siblings, comfortably ensconced in their respective 
accommodations of repose, were experiencing subconscious visual 
hallucinations of variegated saccarinose fruit confections 
performing choreography through their cerebrums.  My conjugal 
partner and I, attired in our nocturnal head-coverings, were about 
to take slumberous advantage of the Arctic-like gloom when upon 
the avenaceous exterior portion of the grounds there ascended such a 
cacophony of dissonance that I felt compelled to arise with alacrity 
from my place of repose for the purpose of ascertaining the precise 
source thereof.

Hastening to the casement, I forthwith opened the barriers sealing 
this fenestration, noting thereupon that the lunar brilliance without, 
reflecting as it was upon the surface of a recent crystalline aqueous 
precipitation, might be said to rival that of the solar meridian 
itself--thus permitting my incredulous optical sensory organs to 
behold a miniature airborne runnered conveyance, drawn by an octet 
of diminutive specimens of the genus Rangifer, piloted by a miniscule, 
aged chauffeur so ebullient and nimble that it became instantly apparent 
to me that he was indeed our anticipated beatified caller.

With this ungulate motive power traveling at a greater vertiginous 
velocity than patriotic alar predators, he vociferated loudly, expelled 
breath musically through contracted labia, and addressed each of the 
octet by his or her cognomen:  "Now Dasher, now Dancer," et al, guiding 
them to the uppermost exterior level of our abode, through which structure 
I could readily distinguish the concatenations of each of the sum total 
of the thirty-two cloven pedal extremities.

As I retracted my cranium from its erstwhile location and was performing 
a pi radians pivot, our distinguished visitant achieved, with utmost 
celerity, via a downward saltation, entry by way of the ceramic smoke 
passage.  He was clad entirely in animal integuments, soiled by the ebony 
residue from partial oxidation of carboniferous fuels.  His resemblance 
to a street vendor I attributed to the plethora of assorted playthings 
which he bore dorsally in a commodious cloth receptacle.

His orbs were scintillant with reflected luminosity, while his sub 
maxillary dermal indentations gave every evidence of engaging amiability.   
The capillaries of his malar regions and nasal appurtenances were engorged 
with crimson circulatory fluid which, its chroma suffusing the dermal 
layers, approximated the retinal sensation reflected by the Prunus avium, 
or sweet cherry.  His amusing sub- and supralabials resembled nothing 
so much as a flexible, curved strip of wood associated with the American 
aborigines and their ambient, hirsute, facial adornment had an absence 
of coloring comparable to crystalline frozen hydrogen oxide vapor.

Clenched firmly between his incisors was the posterior projection of a 
calumet whose gray colloidal aerosol fumes, forming a tenuous elliptical 
torus about his occiput, were suggestive of a decorative seasonal circlet 
of holly.  His visage was wider than it was high, and when he waxed mirthful, 
his corpulent abdominal region undulated in the manner of inpectinated 
fruit syrup in a colloidal gel state within a hemispherical container.  
He was of Napoleonic stature, neither more nor less than an obese, jocund, 
multigenarian gnome, the optical perception of whom rendered me visibly 
frolicsome despite every effort to refrain from being so affected by 
this risiblity.  By rapidly lowering and then elevating one eyelid and 
rotating his head slightly eccentricly, he indicated that trepidation 
on my part was superfluous.

Without utterance, but with noticeable dispatch, he commenced filling 
the aforementioned appended hosiery with various of the articles of 
merchandise extracted from his aforementioned previously dorsally 
transported cloth receptacle.  Upon completion of this task, he 
executed an abrupt pi radian rotation about the vertical axis, placed 
a single manual digit in lateral juxtaposition to his olfactory organ, 
inclined his cranium forward in a gesture of leave taking, and effected 
his egress by saltation up the smoke passage through which he had made ingress.

He then propelled himself in a short vector onto his rustic winter 
conveyance.  Contracting his oral sphincter, he emitted a shrill series 
of notes to the antlered quadrupeds of burden and proceeded to soar 
aloft in a movement hitherto observed chiefly among the seed bearing 
portions of a common weed.  But I overheard his parting exclamation, 
audible immediately prior to his vehiculation beyond the limits of 
visibility: "Ecstatic Yuletide to the planetary constituency, and 
to the selfsame assemblage, my sincerest wishes for a salubriously 
beneficial and gratifyingly pleasurable period between sunset and dawn."


Stan Koper
skoper@netcom.com
plus a change, plus c'est la mme chose
     This message brought to you by Yarn50 and Another Editor
 

[Note's on the above version, taken from http://www.night.net/christmas/technicalxmas.html:
Versions of this article have been floating around the Net for years. According to one visitor to this page, "...this   piece was compiled by students at the South Dakota School of Mines and Technology in Rapid City, South Dakota. The article was printed in the Rapid City paper in December, 1983. I cannot recall the name of the paper, but I still have my clipping of it from that year so I do know from whence and where it originated."

And Catherine writes, "As a graduate of South Dakota School of Mines (SDSM&T) in 1978, I can tell you that I found it in about 1974 at the University of South Dakota (USD). I posted it on my dorm door at USD and at SDSM&T. I recall I may have even read it when working as a d-jay on KTEQ (the school's station). Interesting that it ended up in the newspaper in Rapid City. Who knows, it could have originally come out of Mines."
]


************************************************************
************************************************************


Short Title: Dictionary2

From: mengal (aaz@pucc-h)
Subject: 'Twas the Night Before Christmas ( in a manner of speaking ) 
Newsgroups: net.jokes
Date: 1984-11-26 13:43:29 PST 

    'Twas the Night Before Christmas (in a manner of speaking)

'Twas the nocturnal segment of the diurnal period preceding the
annual Yuletide celebration, and throughout the place of residence,
kinetic activity was not in evidence among the possessors of this
potential, including that species of domestic rodent known as
Mus musculus (mouse).

Hosiery was meticulously suspended from the forward edge of the
wood burning caloric apparatus, pursuant to our anticipatory
pleasure regarding an imminent visitation from an eccentric
philanthropist among whose folkloric appellations is the honorific
title of St. Nicholas.

The prepubescent siblings, comfortably ensconced in their respective
accommodations of repose, were experiencing subconscious visual
hallucinations of variegated fruit confections
moving rhythmically through their cerebrums. My conjugal
partner and I, attired in our nocturnal head coverings, were about
to take slumberous advantage of the hibernal darkness when upon
the avenaceous exterior portion of the grounds there ascended such a
cacophony of dissonance that I felt compelled to arise with alacrity
from my place of repose for the purpose of ascertaining the precise
source thereof.

Hastening to the casement, I forthwith opened the barriers sealing
this fenestration, noting thereupon that the lunar brilliance without,
reflected as it was on the surface of a recent crystalline
precipitation, might be said to rival that of the solar meridian
itself - thus permitting my incredulous optical sensory organs to
behold a miniature airborne runnered conveyance drawn by eight
diminutive specimens of the genus Rangifer, piloted by a minuscule,
aged chauffeur so ebullient and nimble that it became instantly apparent
to me that he was indeed our anticipated caller.

With his ungulate motive power traveling at what may possibly have been more vertiginous
velocity than patriotic alar predators, he vociferated loudly, expelled breath
musically through contracted labia, and addressed each of the
octet by his or her respective cognomen - "Now Dasher, now Dancer..." et al. - guiding
them to the uppermost exterior level of our abode, through which structure
I could readily distinguish the concatenations of each
of the 32 cloven pedal extremities.

As I retracted my cranium from its erstwhile location, and was performing
a 180-degree pivot, our distinguished visitant achieved - with utmost
celerity and via a downward leap - entry by way of the smoke
passage. He was clad entirely in animal pelts soiled by the ebony
residue from oxidations of carboniferous fuels which had accumulated on the walls thereof. His resemblance
to a street vendor I attributed largely to the plethora of assorted playthings
which he bore dorsally in a commodious cloth receptacle.

His orbs were scintillant with reflected luminosity, while his
submaxillary dermal indentations gave every evidence of engaging amiability.
The capillaries of his malar regions and nasal appurtenance were engorged
with blood which suffused the subcutaneous
layers, the former approximating the coloration of Albion's floral emblem, the latter that of the Prunus avium,
or sweet cherry. His amusing sub- and supralabials resembled nothing
so much as a common loop knot, and their ambient hirsute facial adornment
appeared like small, tabular and columnar crystals of frozen water.

Clenched firmly between his incisors was a smoking piece
whose grey fumes, forming a tenuous
ellipse about his occiput, were suggestive of a decorative seasonal circlet
of holly. His visage was wider than it was high, and when he waxed audibly mirthful,
his corpulent abdominal region undulated in the manner of impectinated
fruit syrup in a hemispherical container.
He was, in short, neither more nor less than an obese, jocund,
multigenarian gnome, the optical perception of whom rendered me visibly
frolicsome despite every effort to refrain from so being.
By rapidly lowering and then elevating one eyelid and
rotating his head slightly to one side, he indicated that trepidation
on my part was groundless.

Without utterance and with dispatch, he commenced filling
the aforementioned appended hosiery with various of the aforementioned articles of
merchandise extracted from his aforementioned previously dorsally
transported cloth receptacle. Upon completion of this task, he
executed an abrupt about-face, placed
a single manual digit in lateral juxtaposition to his olfactory organ,
inclined his cranium forward in a gesture of leave-taking, and forthwith effected
his egress by renegotiating (in reverse) the smoke passage.

He then propelled himself in a short vector onto his
conveyance, directed a musical expulsion of air through his contracted oral sphincter
to the antlered quadrupeds of burden, and proceeded to soar
aloft in a movement hitherto observable chiefly among the seed-bearing
portions of a common weed. But I overheard his parting exclamation,
audible immediately prior to his vehiculation beyond the limits of
visibility: "Ecstatic Yuletide to the planetary constituency, and
to that self same assemblage, my sincerest wishes for a salubriously
beneficial and gratifyingly pleasurable period between sunset and dawn."

-- 
Marc W. Mengel
{decvax|ucbvax|sequent|icalqa|inuxc|uiucdcs|ihnp4}!pur-ee!pucc-i!aaz

	The opinions expressed herein are my own.  The University is
    not known to have any opinions.


************************************************************
************************************************************


Short Title: Diet1

Subject:      A Dieter's Christmas - Poem
From:         "Dandalion" 
Date:         1997/12/06
Message-ID:   <66d0rv$3h2@bgtnsc03.worldnet.att.net>
Newsgroups:   rec.crafts.textiles.needlework

              A DIETER'S CHRISTMAS

'Twas the night before Christmas and all round my hips
were Fannie May candies that sneaked past my lips.
Fudge brownies were stored in the freezer with care
in hopes that my thighs would forget they were there.

While Mama in her girdle and I in chin straps
had just settled down to sugar-borne naps.
When out in the pantry there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the kitchen I flew like a flash
tore open the icebox then threw up the sash.
The marshmallow look of the new-fallen snow
sent thoughts of a binge to my body below.

When what to my wandering eyes should appear:
a marzipan Santa with eight chocolate reindeer!
That huge chunk of candy so luscious and slick
I knew in a second that I'd wind up sick.

The sweet-coated Santa, those sugared reindeer,
I closed my eyes tightly, but still I could hear
On Pritzker, on Stillman, on Weak One, on TOPS,
a Weight Watcher dropout from sugar detox.

From the top of the scales to the top of the hall
now dash away pounds now dash away all.
Dressed up in Lane Bryant from my head to nightdress
my clothes were all bulging from too much excess.

My droll little mouth and my round little belly
they shook when I laughed like a bowl full of jelly.
I spoke not a word but went straight to my work
ate all of the candy then turned with a jerk.

And laying a finger beside my heartburn,
I gave a quick nod toward the bedroom I turned.
I eased into bed, to the heavens I cry
if temptation's removed I'll get thin by and by.

And I mumbled again as I turned for the night
in the morning I'll starve....'til I take that first bite!
 


************************************************************
************************************************************


Short Title: Diet2

   Author:   LadyLvsNyt
   Email: ladylvsnyt@aol.com
   Date: 1998/12/15
   Forums: alt.pagan

In a message dated 12/4/98 2:29:35 PM EST, Rainbow43@aol.com writes:

'Twas the night!!

'Twas the month after Christmas, and all through the house
Nothing would fit me, not even a blouse.
The cookies I'd nibbled, the eggnog I'd taste
At the holiday parties had gone to my waist.

When I got on the scales there arose such a number!
When I walked to the store (less a walk than a lumber).
I'd remember the marvelous meals I'd prepared;
The gravies and sauces and beef nicely rared,

The wine and the rum balls, the bread and the cheese
And the way I'd never said, "No thank you, please."
As I dressed myself in my husband's old shirt
And prepared once again to do battle with dirt---

I said to myself, as I only can
"You can't spend a winter disguised as a man!"
So--away with the last of the sour cream dip,
Get rid of the fruit cake, every cracker and chip

Every last bit of food that I like must be banished
"Till all the additional ounces have vanished.
I won't have a cookie--not even a lick.
I'll want only to chew on a long celery stick.

I won't have hot biscuits, or corn bread, or pie,
I'll munch on a carrot and quietly cry.
I'm hungry, I'm lonesome, and life is a bore---
But isn't that what January is for?
Unable to giggle, no longer a riot.
Happy New Year to all and to all a good diet!

Ravyn

************************************************************
************************************************************

Matthew Monroe in Richland, WA

Last Modified January 7, 2007