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: Skiing1

Subject:      Twas the Night before Skiing
From:         Liz Harvey 
Date:         1997/12/16
Message-ID:   <34969028.4337@rsn.com>
Newsgroups:   rec.skiing.alpine

Twas the Night Before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the states
not a creature was stirring, not even Bill Gates.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
in hopes that ski season soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
while visions of ski trips danced in their heads.
And Mama with her snowboard, and I with my skis,
had just tuned our boards for carving up trees.

When out from my computer there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Off to my desk I flew like a flash,
RSN's Web site came up with a splash.

The scenes of new-fallen snow and two foot deep tracks
gave the lustre of freshies to PC's and Macs,
when, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but many new Resort Cams, from both far and both near.

In my excitement, I clicked on cams east and cams west,
there were so many cams I needed to rest
More rapid than snowguns, the cams they came,
and I whistled and shouted and I called them by name:

"Now Taos! Now Angel Fire!
Now, Boyne USA and New Mountain High!
On, Okemo! On, Summit!
On Canyons and Snowbird!
To the top of the slopes!
To the top of the sky!
Now ski away! Ski away!
To the mountains we'll fly!"

As skiing through powder in early December,
when met with a trail you never remember
so onward I searched on the new RSN.COM,
for Fast Travel I heard it was really da bomb.

And then, in a twinkling, I saw on my screen
the deals of the century, on Fast Travel they came.
As I clicked on them further I saw with my eyes,
a service was there with truly great buys.

I was psyched from my head right down to my foot,
everything I needed was here, no further to look.
Ticket rates, event listings, childcare and more,
With the click of a button I booked a vacation for four.

My eyes how they twinkled! My vacation was set!
I'd be skiing in no time, how much better would it get?
I needed some snow conditions to give me a pump,
My fav resort had snow, there had just been a dump.
Snow depths and trail conditions they were all there to see,
Now on to the Weather, oh, this filled me with glee.
I saw radar and doppler and jetstreams and more,
all I needed were videos could I ask for anything more?

I watched an extreme video from Mr. Greg Stump,
I then felt in my throat a mighty big lump.
Tears came to my eyes, I had finally found
the site that I'd dreamed of for so very long.

I entered a contest before I was done,
Mammoth or Sugarloaf, hmmm both would be fun.
I turned off my computer and started packing my bags,
It was time to tear off last season's lift tags.

When I got to the resort, I turned on the TV,
Like a dream come true, RSN was looking at me.
Before hitting the slopes there appeared in large scrawl

From your Friends at RSN, Happy Holidays to All !

http://www.rsn.com

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Short Title: Skiing2

from http://www.xcottawa.ca/xcottawa/archived/articles/craig/twasthe.html
'Twas the Night Before Ski Training
By: Craig Storey 

'Twas the night before ski training, when the word went out 
There was a chance of a snow fall, so I'd better watch out. 
All of my equipment I was told to prepare,
And my hats, mitts and jacket were slung over a chair.

As I was nestled all snug in my bed,
Visions of snowfakes danced in my head.
With snow tires on my car and skis on my rack,
I knew I would be ready, should Jack Frost attack.

In the trunk of my car, there was such a clutter, 
Of roller skis, a scooter, running shoes, and peanut butter.
If only rain fell, and not snow like forcast,
I'd be forced to train, like warm weekends past.

At dawn, to the window I flew like a flash 
Tore open the blinds and threw up the sash. 
But to my disappointment, there was nothing but fog,
Sigh! One more snowless day in my ski training log. 

Two snooze buttons later, I left in the dark
In rain I drove slowly, headed for the Park 
When what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a city plough, with 8 cm of snow on the rear.

Then a speeding driver I was, so lively and quick.
I thought for a moment it might be a trick.
But snow on the roof tops re-inforced what was claimed
I could ski today and I loudly exclaimed: 

"No scootering! No running! No roller skiing today!
No cycling! No hiking! On skis I will play!" 
To Fortune, to Penguin, the hills they did call, 
Kick and glide, kick and glide, I will ski up them all!

Onward and upward past P8 I did steer,
On the lookout for a fellow  skier,
To P10 I ventured, rally car style,
Eager to ski my very first mile.

Dressed in modern fabrics, from my head to my foot,
On a parkway cloaked in thick snow, my skis I did put.
Classic style was the technique of the day,
I headed out hoping to journey a long way.

My eyes how they twinkled, I was giddy and merry.
I took with me all the Eload I could carry.
A summer of weights had my arms feeling strong,
Hours spent on the scooter has made my stride long.

I spoke not a word, but went straight to work,
Skiing like mad, 'til my HRM went berzerk. 
At the stone bridge that crosses Ridge road, 
I looked up and down, and not a single rock showed!

All the way down to Penguin I would go, 
Over red, green and orange leaf covered snow. 
The ground was brilliant, the fall colours too, 
Two seasons in one - a spectacular view! 

I sprang off my skis, to my team I did gush, 
Of a 4 hour ski in October's early slush. 
You may have heard me exclaim as I drove out of sight,
"HAPPY SKIING TO ALL, AND MAY EVERYDAY BE WHITE!" 


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Short Title: SkiingEpic

Subject:      Lurvless in Lincoln (long)
From:         "Adrenochrome" 
Date:         1997/12/22
Message-ID:   <01bd0f00$dc302000$626464c0@feh>
Newsgroups:   rec.skiing.alpine

Or...

The Epic Saga of Adrenochrome, Chapter 4

The following post has been voluntarily rated 18+, and contains adult
situations, nudity, violence, and coarse language.  Deal with it.

[Editor's Note:  I have turned this post into two columns to save space.
                 Read down the left column, then down the right column.]

Twas the weekend before Christmas  ||  The groomers had tended
And in all of the East,            ||  The hill with due care,
Only one mount forecast snow       ||  So NYC tourists
Boasting, "Two feet! At least!"    ||  Would not get a scare.
                                   ||
RCOVers made plans                 ||  The groomers had mashed
O'er the net with much care.       ||  Each contour flat.
"We'll go to the 'Loaf,            ||  No chances for air,
And stay and ski there."           ||  No moguls to make me go splat.
                                   ||
On Friday I plotted                ||  But no new snow for two weeks
To skip out of work early.         ||  Meant they'd tilled up the rocks
My boss left at four               ||  So that with every turn
So I bailed at four-thirty.        ||  Edges threw up bright sparks.
                                   ||
The seven east-bound lanes         ||  "Now wait," readers think,
Of highway four oh one             ||  "That rhyme was quite lame."
Moved swiftly away                 ||  Use a Maine accent
From the setting sun.              ||  and they sound just the same.
                                   ||
Faster than chargers               ||  First run of the day,
My Sable, it flew.                 ||  I was bombing a blue,
(I guess I was anxious             ||  Tucked super-G turns
To see, "You know who.")           ||  Till a patrol whistle blew.
                                   ||
I smoked many cigs                 ||  First run of the day
And much coffee was consumed,      ||  And of course I did stack.
As on through the night            ||  I didn't see the closed rope.
My car swiftly zoomed.             ||  Stretched 'cross my track.
                                   ||
A car blew by me                   ||  At forty miles per hour
Doing one-fifty                    ||  I did a 90 degree edge-set.
And I kicked up my speed           ||  The skis chattered mightily
So the miles passed by swiftly.    ||  And I thought my maker I'd met.
                                   ||
Many miles later                   ||  Three feet off the ground,
He was stopped by a cop.           ||  The rope, it was strung,
And I waved as I passed            ||  And I slid sideways under it
To the limit my speed did drop.    ||  On my hip and my bum.
                                   ||
I reached Montreal                 ||  My uphill toe pre-released
At ten before nine                 ||  Though it was set at eight.
And it looked like my              ||  Three guesses as to what
E-T-A was just fine.               ||  It was that I ate.
                                   ||
On Twenty, On Forty,               ||  So my Rossi's did carve
On Aut. Decarie.                   ||  And Nate's Kinetics did skid,
(Them Montreal drivers             ||  So I sharpened her edges,
are quite fucking scary.)          ||  "Now hold on to your lid!"
                                   ||
Top the top of Mont Royal,         ||  And so right down Spillway
To the top of Pont Champlain.      ||  We ripped perfect round turns
Now dash away, dash away           ||  (And collapsed at the bottom
On route 10 bound for Maine.       ||  with lactic acid quad burns.)
                                   ||
Ten miles before Orford            ||  "Let's head for the summit",
There fell much wet snow.          ||  She shouted over the snowboarders' din.
I turned on the wipers,            ||  I pointed at the rocks saying,
And the heater did blow.           ||  "The cover looks thin."
                                   ||
Skirting the mount                 ||  And down to the new
I passed a snowplow,               ||  Timberline quad we raced,
Realized 500 meters up,            ||  But it was closed on wind-hold.
They'd be getting dry pow.         ||  (Just like the gondi it replaced.)
                                   ||
One-thirty klicks                  ||  "To King Pine Bowl," Nadine said,
In fifty-one minutes               ||  "The snow will be deep,
Brought me to Sherbrooke           ||  They've been running the guns there
Where I stopped for donuts.        ||  Non-stop for a week."
                                   ||
And now the snow                   ||  To get there, down Narrow Gauge
Did fall most thickly,             ||  We tucked super-G turns.
And I don't think my speed         ||  Then stopped to watch blue-jean
Ever climbed above fifty.          ||  Heroes crash and burn.
                                   ||
"All-season" radials               ||  And the day did play out
Just don't work for shit           ||  With continuos non-stop runs
When the roads are snow packed,    ||  Until the lifties cried, "Last chair,
Un-plowed, and slick.              ||  You dirt-bag ski bums."
                                   ||
The United States border,          ||  To Nadine's place we went,
I stopped at the post,             ||  As a hostess she was a dear,
And knew that right here           ||  She even provided me
My trip could become toast.        ||  With Canadian beer.
                                   ||
The guard said, "You look          ||  Over dinner the conversation
Like you're carrying hash."        ||  Became somewhat flirty.
I'm gonna check your rectum        ||  (Okay, I'll admit,
To search for your stash."         ||  It got downright dirty.)
                                   ||
"Now just bend over                ||  She pointed upstairs
And try not to scream.             ||  And I and my muscle
The KY's damned cold,              ||  Anticipated a sweaty
But my latex is clean."            ||  Apres ski tussle.
                                   ||
When I left the border             ||  And what to my wondering
I needed a smoke,                  ||  Eyes should appear,
So I lit up a cig and thought,     ||  But Nadine in a teddy,
"Those guards don't like to joke." ||  How I wished it were sheer!
                                   ||
Ten miles from the 'Loaf           ||  Too quickly I insisted
The snowfall did thin              ||  She blow on my knob.
'Till the road was clear           ||  "In Maine that's illegal.
And my wheels did not spin.        ||  Go sleep on the couch, Rob."
                                   ||
I pulled into 'Loaf's lot          ||  And remembering from school
And the snowstorm did stop.        ||  That no means, "more beer."
The clouds cleared from the mount  ||  I said, "Whatsa matter?
And I could see to the top.        ||  What happened? You queer?"
                                   ||
The mountain received              ||  Her eyes how they blazed
Less than an inch                  ||  As she grabbed my head by the hairs,
Just my bad luck                   ||  Dragged me from her room
Life's such a bitch.               ||  And threw me down the stairs.
                                   ||
I got into my sleeping bag         ||  I wandered her ground floor
Resting my head on a can of bondo, ||  Feeling quite mean
And wished that one                ||  Till my eye fell upon
Of my friends owned a condo.       ||  Her espresso machine.
                                   ||
The temperature dropped,           ||  As I ground fine some beans
And a fierce north wind blew,      ||  There arose such a clatter
And my lips and my ears,           ||  That she flew down the stairs
Turned a bright shade of blue.     ||  To see what was the matter.
                                   ||
Come morning I gargled,            ||  And as I presented
And grabbed a quick shave.         ||  The frothy java-juice
Then hunted down coffee.           ||  We negotiated
(My need was most grave!)          ||  A tentative truce.
                                   ||
I saw fierce red hair,             ||  The cappuccino, it seemed
And a green one-piece Spyder,      ||  Made her less of a grouch.
And I knew in an instant,          ||  (But still she insisted
Lobstah girl, I'd spied her.       ||  I sleep on the couch.)
                                   ||
Off for my pass,                   ||  Then in the morning
I stepped up to the wicket.        ||  We went to local Mt. Hermon,
The girl at the window said,       ||  Scamming free tickets
"No coupons, full-price ticket."   ||  Like true RCOV vermin.
                                   ||
For it was Saturday,               ||  Two ancient t-bars
And first day of high season,      ||  And snow that was firm.
And they wouldn't take my coupon,  ||  Nadine wished for poma.
Despite my protests, nor reason.   ||  "Oh! How I'd squirm!"
                                   ||
"Have fun at the Olympic           ||  At noon I knocked off
boarder qualifying trials,         ||  To head back to work.
We've five thousand boarders,      ||  (I couldn't get Monday off,
Clogging the trails."              ||  sometimes my boss is a jerk.)
                                   ||
"If one of those cretins           ||  And I heard her exclaim,
Gets in my way,                    ||  As I drove out of sight,
Out cold on the snow,              ||  "What a tight sexy tush,
He, I shall lay."                  ||  I should have jumped him last night!"
                                   ||
But I needn't worry                ||  --
For the boarders did suck,         ||  Vail-No gouging granite groomer gifts.
And they stayed at the pipe        ||
To watch each other huck.          ||

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Short Title: Skydiving

   Author:   ChutnGalry
   Email: chutngalry@aol.com
   Date: 1998/12/14
   Forums: rec.skydiving

       T'was The Load Before Christmas

T'was the night before Christmas, and out at the zone,
  all the jumpers had gathered, even Curly was home.
The Manta's were packed in the Racer's with care,
  in the hope that some students might show on a dare.

The jumpers were nestled all snug in their beds,
  while visions of Sabres danced all through their heads.
They had all settled down for a mid-winters snooze,
  their eyelids were heavy from two kegs of booze.

When outside the hangar there arose such a clatter,
  we sprang from our beds to see what was the matter.
As we ran from the clubhouse we were all told to drop,
  we were met by a G-Man and eight local cops.

This G-Man was clever, so lively and quick,
  he yelled, "boy's, it's Christmas, just call me Saint Nick".
When we were all captured, he stepped forward to say,
  "I'm just here to help boy's, I'm from the FAA"

"The records don't lie boy's, I should get a noose,
  I've got definite proof you've all jumped from the 'goose'.
The jump door's illegal, there's no STC,
  you'd all be in jail, if t'wer left up to me."

From his head to his toe he was all dressed in black,
  as he read our citations from a really big stack.
"The jump step is faulty, the cowling is cracked,
  I've checked your reserves and their all pencil-packed."

His eyes how they twinkled as he read from his list,
  I sensed in my heart, we were in some deep shit.
As chapter and verse he recited our crimes,
  I remembered the statue, how justice was blind.

He began signing the paperwork, his face looked like death,
  I let out a belch in spite of myself.
"The 'goose' has been grounded, it's owner arrested,
  He's been taken to jail and his rear end molested."

I shuddered to think, I started to vomit,
  To imagine Ron's rear like a number 8 grommet.
Then one cop laughed out and said, "hey I'll bet,
  This bust will be featured in next months Gazette."

"Arrest the mechanics, the pilots and riggers,
  Suspend all their privileges and tear up their tickets."
And I heard the Fed say as he walked out of sight.
  "Civil penalties for the rest, and to all a good night."


MERRY CHRISTMAS - - Curly
Curly Roe gave me a copy of this nearly 10 years ago.  Enjoy.
Hank Ellis


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Short Title: SmokingNicoBeast

   Author:   Ceej65012
   Email: ceej65012@aol.comweebies
   Date: 1998/12/18
   Forums: alt.support.stop-smoking
   
Errant Knight Before Christmas
(for Penny who started it all)

Twas the night before Christmas
And all thru the house
Not a creature was stirring
'Cept me and the mouse.

I smelled something burning
And turned myself 'round
As the nico-beast entered
With nary a sound

I ran to my weapons
Case by the stairs
As little mouse scurried
Under a chair.

Facing the nico-beast
Square like a mman
With my nico-whip safely
Ensconced in my hand.

 popped the whip.
Nico-demon stepped back.
Mouse covered his eyes
With a tiny squeek "ack!"

"Come on, Nico-demon!
Let's see your worst!"
The nico-bease glared and
Let out a curse.

"Oh, let us be friends.
Here, have a smoke,"
He said with a smile
As little mouse choked.

"No, don't!" cried mousey.
"He isn't your friend!
Please use your weapons!
Put this to an end!"

Mousey was right,
Of that I was sure.
For this old demon
There was only one cure!

Grabbing my thwacker,
I took a big swing
And hit him so hard
I made his ears ring!

He fell to the ground
With a horrible moan
As the thwacker took on
A life of it's own!

It lurched from my hand
With a  and a 
Hopping after the mouse.
"You idiot!  Ack!

You left on the safety!"
Shouted the mouse
As he ducked and darted
All over the house.

The thwacker then turned
And bounced back my way.
I broke into a run,
Attempting to pray.

It , , and 
As it came after me
And then with a 
I fell into the tree.

The lights were still twinkling,
The tinsel so shiney
As that klompen-thwacker
Beat on my hiney!

I rolled to the side
And got to my knees
As my own nico-weapon
Kept beating on me!

The demon arose and
Cried out in fright
As the thwacker gave chase
Out into the night.

Let this be a warning
To those who would scoff.
When using the thwacker,
Take the dang safety off!

--cj--


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Short Title: SmokingStNic

Newsgroups: alt.support.stop-smoking 
From: "BIGLEO" 
Date: Sat, 25 Dec 2004 13:28:38 GMT 
Subject: TWAS NITE BEFORE CHRISTMAS 

Twas the NITE before Christmas, I was feeling quite pleased
16 days since I smoked, 16 days since I wheezed
The ashtrays were stashed, my lighter long gone
The cravings more tolerable, not nearly as strong

I reminded myself. "don't get too cocky"
The road she is long, the road she is rocky
But part of me whispered, "You've got this thing beat"
"It wasn't so hard, no big daring feat"

When out on the porch I heard a strange stirring
I tried to ignore it, it became quite alluring
I opened the door and turned to the noise
"Quiet" I whispered, "You'll wake up my boys"

The dog had peed on the new fallen snow
So the yellowish white gave a nice subtle glow
When what to my disbelief should I see
But a sled full of ciggerettes brought there for me

With a stained tooth driver who looked tierd and sick
I knew in a moment it must be Sir Nic
He held out his arms and took hold my hand
And scolded me boldly for taking a stand

"Oh Jim you silly, you rebel, you dreamer"
"You can't escape me I'm a powerful schemer"
"I'll be with you forever, and that's just plain facts"
"Now light up a smoke and you'll finally relax"

So far, somehow, I had kept him at bay
But could I really keep up this fight every day?
He glared at me smugly, he knew I would cave
This addiction will follow me straight to my grave

I said "Give me a moment, I need time to think"
Then I noticed that instant he started to shrink
He said "I'm losing my patience, there's no time to dally"
"Now go get your coat,we'll smoke in the ally"

I didn't budge, I held firm my stance
I said, "tighten your belt, you're losing your pants"
"You were taller than me ten minutes ago"
"Either you're losing ground or I'm starting to grow"

He said,"Don't be daft, you're not bigger than me"
Then he stretched up his arms and grabbed at my knee
Then I realized something I'll never forget
Every craving I conquer the more desperate he gets

I said, "Beat it shorty, I've about had my fill"
"The ball's in my court and it's 16 to nil"
He said, "You've won this one but this much is true"
"I'll be back, and you know it, I'm gunning for you

"When your're stressed and tired 
and you're life's at it's worst
I'll see you again"
"NOT IF I SEE YOU FIRST"


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Short Title: Snoopy

from http://home.earthlink.net/~latinwolf7/xmas297.html

Subject: Snoopy's Christmas
From: Lord Tim Brent 
Date: 2000/11/30
Newsgroups: alt.marek

The news came out in the first world war
The bloody red baron was flying once more
The allied command ignored all of it's men
And called on Snoopy to do it again

Twas the night before Christmas, 40 below
When Snoopy went up in search of his foe
He spied the red baron and fiercely they fought
With ice on his wings Snoopy knew he was caught

CHORUS:
Christmas bells, those Christmas bells
Ringing through the land
Bringing peace to all the world
And good will to Man

The baron had Snoopy dead in his sight
He reached for the trigger to pull up tight
Why he didn't shoot well, we'll never know
Or was it the bells from the village below

CHORUS:
Christmas bells, those Christmas bells
Ringing through the land
Bringing peace to all the world
And good will to Man

The baron made Snoopy fly to the Rhine
And forced him to land behind the enemy line
Snoopy was certain that this was the end
When the Baron cried out, "Merry Christmas, my friend!"

The Baron then offered a holiday toast
And Snoopy our hero saluted his host
Then with a roar they were both on their way
Each knowing they'd meet on some other day

CHORUS:
Christmas bells, those Christmas bells
Ringing through the land
Bringing peace to all the world
And good will to Man

--
Tim
-------
Duchy of Grand Fenwick

The Church Beatle will pass among you
No foreign coins please.


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Short Title: Snow

From: Evel (Evel@kodak.com)
Subject: Twas the night before snow
Newsgroups: rec.sport.snowmobiles
Date: 2001-12-23 07:49:44 PST 
 
(This was in today's D&C)

Twas the Night Before Snow
By Meteorologist Kevin Williams

'Twas a week before Christmas, when from the hills to the lake,
not a snow squall was stirring, not even a flake.

The weather maps were hung by the radar with care, in hopes
that some lake effect soon would be there.

One snow lover lamented that he was too snug in bed, although
others envisioned icy roads with dread.

More rapid than gales predictors hedgingly proclaimed,
Christmas is a tough call-surely you'd say the same.

Now Glenn! Now Josh! Now Michael and Christy!
On, Richard! On, Scott! On, Pat and Jimmy!

Away to the window we flew like a flash, upon spotting the first
snowflakes descend by the glass.

Then a wink of his eye and a twist of his head, soon gave me
to know it is like we always said:

Old man winter says not a word but goes straight to work,
though if there is snow for Christmas, consider it a perk!

Yet the outlook's clear, the mild weather's soon out of sight.
Happy Christmas to all, and your New Year sure looks white!

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Short Title: Snowmobile1

   Author:   "Captain Nebulous"
   Email: captsled@Tcat.com
   Date: 1998/12/24
   Forums: rec.sport.snowmobiles
   
    THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Northeast
A Winter storm was brewing, a platter for sledders to feast!
The helmets were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that ST. NICHOLAS soon would be there!

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of trail maps danced in our heads!
"The babe" still in  thermals, and I still in boots,
Sat warmed by the fire, to enjoy a few toots!

From out on the snow, came the scream of a sled!
A "crunch" on the house, caused feelings of dread!
When the sound of the sled had turned to a roar,
I jumped from the chair, and made for the door!

The air was all crisp and the moon just full ripe,
And the whole house was shaking from that tuned pipe!
My eyes did adjust, to a scene that could shock,
A giant sled on my roof, and he's trying to dock!

The driver dressed in red from his head to his foot,
And landing so poorly, I just couldn't look!
The sled was on "nitro", no doubt of that,
Nor that the driver knocked my chimney just flat!

With 3,000 cc's the sled just so quick,
I just knew it had to be, an errant St. Nick!
A bit portly was he, certainly not trim,
And the bag that he carried was filled to the brim!

He jumped in the flue, then crashed to our fire,
His beard was all singed and he yelled out his ire!
He patted his beard to put out the embers,
While questioning our status as good sledding members!

A hot chocolate calmed him, he thanked us so much,
And explained erratic behavior on a cantankerous clutch!
He opened that bag and all I could see,
Were snowmobile goodies for you and for me!

Tracks and studs he displayed by the gross,
Even a new windscreen, upon looking close!
The best present of all he saved for the last,
A ninety eight map that showed all of VAST!

He rose to his sled and sat on the seat,
Pulled down his visor and tucked in his feet!
The engine he torqued, flames belched all around,
The sled leaped to the sky, In one single bound!

I heard him shout as he careened  out of sight.

"MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!!"

Holiday Greetings from "Captain Nebulous"

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Short Title: Snowmobile2

From: Lee Erickson (ke4lbh@mediaone.net)
Subject: Santa's Sled 
Newsgroups: rec.sport.snowmobiles
Date: 2001-12-21 12:43:26 PST 

T'was the night before Christmas, not a sound could you hear.
All the sledders were sleeping, for they'd had too much beer.

Then from out on the lake, I heard something  comin'.
'Twas a well tuned triple, with loud pipes a hummin.

I jumped from my bed, and threw on my green suit.
Stumbled out the back door, in my black Sorel boots.

I peeked 'round the corner, and  a  what did I see?
But some clown  on an big Cat, headed towards me.

I said "Must be Bill..., just out for a tear."
But that theory was trashed when it leaped in the air.

I twice shook my head, not believing my eyes.
For there was a Pantera, and boy could it fly!

When I saw who was driving, I was taken aback.
'Twas a jolly old fat  man, with a big velvet sack.

He wore a custom geen helmet, and purple leather suit.
With fur and bell trimmings on his Arctic Cat boots.

With a squeeze of his fingers he hauled in on the brake,
Made a shift and turn, and again crossed the lake.

He stopped the big triple up on top of the roof,
And jumped  down the chimney with an audible "poof."

I ran in the house, not believing myself,
To confront this big sledder, who was sure not an elf.

When I peeked 'round the corner he was trimming the tree,
With Black Magic Chips, for the Mrs. and me.

I said there "Hey Buddy, what  are you doing here?"
He said, "I'm from Hoppy's, and could use a beer"

"How come I haven't heard you say,  "HO HO HO?"
"Well it fogs up my visor, so I can't see ya know."

"You are supposed to have Reindeer for getting around."
"Nope, I traded them in, for a dollar a pound."

"Why drive a Pantera, not an Indy or Z?"
"Just let me get done while the kids are asleep...."

I slid Santa a cold one, and he popped open the cap.
He chugged it down, then grabbed another from his sack.

He said, "Thanks for the Bud, but I gotta fly."
I said, "Be Careful, Good Luck,  Good-bye."

Santa put on his helmet, and reached for his nose,
Then in an instant, up the chimney he rose.

Up on the roof, I heard the big triple roar
The  shingles were trashed ......now for sure.

He  pulled in on the throttle, and boy did he go .
Ripping up shingles and scattering snow.

But I heard him exclaim as he roared out of sight .
"Just don't try to catch, me you'll just see tail lights. ."

And I thought to my self, as he flew away
Will the Doo-ers believe this this? Heck no.., no way "

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Short Title: Soccer

From: Theblaengarw2 (theblaengarw2@aol.com)
Subject: 'Twas the night before Christmas - A Cautionary Tale 
Newsgroups: rec.sport.soccer
Date: 2003-12-25 11:04:59 PST 
 
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the ground
No player was stirring, nor even Carra the Pound;
The youth players were boarded in the Academy with care,
In hopes that Steve Heighway would pick them out there;

The reserves were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of large salaries danced in their heads;
And Gerard, his scarf, and Thommo the nose,
Had long settled down for a midwinter's repose,

When out on Breccy Road there arose such a clatter,
Sammy sprang from his bed to see what was the matter.
Away down the Kop he bounced like a flash,
Tore open the turnstiles and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of a trophy to the objects below,
When, what to his wondering eyes should there be,
But a miniature bus, and a big ginger donkey,

With a little mad driver, at the wide steering wheel,
He knew in a moment it must be O'Neill.
As rapid as sea slugs his players they came,
As he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Balde! now, Douglas! now, Hartson and Lennon!
On, Guppy! on Lambert! on, Petta and Sutton!
To the top of the Anny! to the top of the Kem!
Now plod away! plod away! Plod away my men!" 

So up to the Main Stand the Celtic players they lurched,
With their longball football, and O'Neill perched.
Alone on the touchline like a crazy old aunt,
Eyes ablaze and mouthing a rant,

About this ref and that ref and handballs that weren't
And diving Porto players after the UEFA Cup earnt
And then, in a twinkling, Sammy saw from the roof
The soaring and arcing of every large hoof.

Three at the back and three big men up front,
Snow on the football after every long punt.
St John in the stands with a cackling wide grin,
He'd got rid of Houllier, being French was his sin;

Lee looked on in horror as the Bhoys show unfurled,
Into that Walton Breck gutter his supper he hurled.
The forums, the talk shows, the 606 fools
Had wished upon Anfield these non-footballing ghouls

Reds dreams of European glory would be dashed to the hills,
By Cloughie's mad henchman and his "Launch it, No Frills!"
Sammy awoke with a start, sweat drenching his bed
That green and white nightmare running still round his head 

So he ran around Anfield shouting loud as he could
How the manager you wish for doesn't always end good,
So remember in the Reds search for our Managerial Grail
Sammy Lee's cautionary Christmas tale

steve d
(with apologies to Clement Clarke Moore)


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Short Title: SocCultureIrish

from http://home.earthlink.net/~latinwolf7/xmas298.html

Subject: Resurrection - Twas the Night Before Christmas
From: "The Pirate Queen" 
Date: 2000/12/06
Newsgroups: soc.culture.irish

Twas the Night Before Christmas (1999)

'Twas the night before Christmas, on the USENET group SCI,
Not a wanker was stirring, all zipped were the flies.

The trolls were all hung by the chimney with care,
(Some hoped they were hung, but alas nothing was there).

The off-topics were nestled all snug in their beds,
With visions of lesbian orgies alive in their heads.

Mother Mott in red nightie, and GA in G-string,
Had just settled down for a long winter's fling.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
PQ awoke mumbling, "what the hell is the matter?"

Away to the window she sashayed like a queen,
And flung open the shutters to a most interesting scene.

Wee Dave on her shoulder, PT Murphy in tow,
she spied Salacious and Sheela, having a go!

When, what to Ger's gorm eyes should manifest,
But Sweeney in drag, with a sizable chest.

Pulled by Unki, and eight bleating SCI sheep,
Looking quite tuckered out, and ready for sleep.

In an Irish tenor voice he non-yuppily crooned,
"My darlings can I show you my alabaster moon?"

He whispered and cooed, and called them by name,
"Now Pete! Now Philo! Now Conman for shame!"

"Later I promise, now we've opinions to post,
High-horses to ride and Irish boasts to host."

Then Dessie the wee one, kicked Pammy *again*,
"The hell with free trade, now repent your sins!"

But Mac the Merkin breed said "Hold up wee Des,"
"It's not *all* total bollix, what she smugly says."

Then a great ruckus arose, all turned towards the fray,
A mango goth cat had clawed the mixed-up breed Ray.

Brian the socialist animal jumped in for a bite,
But soon it became the same ole trite shite.

Thank God in heaven and the devil in hell,
We've been spared the mad ravin' of the Morrigan Danielle.

But a loud keening was still heard and a yelp for help,
"Oh save us from loud fat-assed yanks full of themselves."

Who then should appear, the multi-culchie Bren brigade?!
On Breathnach! On Puckster! and much merriment was made!

Cheered on by the Kates, a Lily, or is that Sue?
"We just love that culchie smell," said Sheela and PQ.

Then Mr. Cooper the Coach, was overheard to say,
"Beware the Hardman, he'll reappear one day."

Jim the shitkicker said, "The Hardman's a putz,
Who doesn't know his own head, from a sack of nuts."

Then all of a sudden there appeared in the sky,
The Anglo-Norman Deathsquad condescending on SCI.

Eddie the snipper penned a flaming bombshell,
and even Mark Devlin and Cris yelled, "Fochinell!"

Gerry Doyle was hunkered, down in a foxhole,
muttering, "I'm the nice Doyle, not the arsehole."

Bro the literary device, was busy in the kitchen,
Extracting all those hormones injected in his chicken.

Some newbies tested the water, now and again,
as the Donegal Topic Prince bellowed from his Glen.

But lately he's been mellowing, aw sure he's alright,
Some of us know his THWACK's worse than his bite.

Lulamae was busy stuffing all the SCI stockings full,
While pontificating on the words of the last Papal Bull.

Faith and Begorra, it's the Notre Dame Leprechaun,
Taunting the SCItizens, "what *are* you people on?"

"Uh oh," some replied, you'd better leave in a hurry.
You've fuck all to do with Ireland, here's Ger with the slurry!

We heard the lep shout, as Unki's sheep readied for flight,
"You'll never catch me!" and he vanished out of sight.

Soon the tequila and Guinness were flowing like wine,
and the SCItizens were all pissed and having a good time.

As the Merkins got louder and the Irish got more merry,
"Doesn't anyone want to talk about the Cruithni" asked Harry!

"Hell no!" a mighty collective shout was heard alright,
"Happy Christmas to all, now go and have a good . . . .
.

.

.

.

.

.
.
.
night!"

PQ
the things I do for you people

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Short Title: SocSexualitySpanking1

   Author:   James Hill
   Email: JamesHill@Altavista.net
   Date: 1998/12/10
   Forums: soc.sexuality.spanking

An Assville Christmas Fantasy
   
Twas the night before Christmas
And all through Assville
There was nary a flame,
Not one Nil!

The bottoms were tucked in,
All snug in their bed
Although one or two
Was a shade more than red.

And moma in her handcuffs,
And I in my cap
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
When all over Assville -
There arose such a clatter,
I peered over her ass, to see what was the matter.

And out on the lawn
Was a sight to behold
Why it was most of Assville
The Young and the Old.

There was Bori, and Bookbabe,
And Joni and Swen,
There Jule, and Papa,
And more ladies and men.

And all of Assville
Had one and all  A strange look on each face -
And was staring wild-eyed
At the sight that took place:

For there in the snow
And I swear this took place!
Were Klonda and Duchin
Their bodies locked in embrace.

Now some say it was consensual
And some say it was not -
But by the moonlight was clear
The spanking was hot!

And so we all watched
This sight to behold,
And what joy came to Assville,
The young and the old

And so many years hence,
Still the story was told,
Of the Christmas in Assville,
When all flames were on hold.


James Hill

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Short Title: SocSexualitySpanking2

Newsgroups: soc.sexuality.spanking 
From: joso...@aol.com (Josoami)
Date: 25 Dec 2004 14:47:10 GMT 
Subject: Re: Looking for "Night before Christmas" spanking poem 

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the town
Naughty Girl's pleas could be heard as her panties came down.
"Oh Santa, dear Santa, don't spank me, I pray!
I'll be ever so good, starting right from today!"

But Santa just chuckled, "I've heard that before
From many a bad girl with bottom so sore
As she wriggles and squirms 'neath his hand's hearty sting.
But a promise like that - why, it means not a thing.

What matters, dear Naughty Girl, as you'll very soon see
Is that you should be spanked across Santa's broad knee
Till your sassy bare bottom is burning bright red!"
And with that, the old fellow did just as he'd said,

And proceed to spank her with all of his might
Till her yelps echoed loud in the cold frosty night,
And each swat, ringing out like a loud pistol shot,
Turned her soft, round bottom increasingly hot.

Then, when she'd been hand-spanked with many a smack,
The jolly old fellow reached into his sack
And produced a fine paddle of well-seasoned wood.
"Now, this is the thing that makes naughty girls good,"

He remarked with a grin. "And I think you'll soon find
How effective it feels on a tender behind!"
"Oh please, Santa! No more!" cried poor Naughty Girl in dismay,
But the paddle cracked down without further delay,

And despite all her protests and wailings and shrieks
Soon deepened the blush on her squirming, rear cheeks.
Poor Naughty Girl, oh how she wriggled! But all was in vain,
For the paddle descended again and again

Till her bouncing bare bottom was sizzling and sore
And as red as the costume that Santa Claus wore.
But at last he relented and, letting her rise,
Hugged her warmly, wiping the tears from her eyes,

And murmuring, "There, it's all over, my dear,"
Rubbed soothing cool cream on her blazing hot rear.
Then he told her, "Well Naughty Girl, your sweet bottom so curved
Has had the sound spanking it so richly deserved.

From now on, I'm sure, I don't need to explain,
If you're good then I shan't have to spank you again.
But if you are naughty - remember, my dear,
That Santa keeps watch for the whole of the year!"

Then smiling, he shouldered his bulging big sack,
And sent her away with a crisp farewell smack.
So Naughty Girl hurried to bed with satisfaction you know,
With a song in her heart and her bottom all aglow

And a sense that all manner of things were all right.
But she slept facing down on her tummy that night.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to me he gave a wave,
And away he flew like my Naughty Girl when she misbehaves.
But I heard him exclaim, as he flew out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all and a good spanking tonight."


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Short Title: SocSingles

From: Kthulah (kthulah@yahoo.com)
Subject: Twas Ten Nights Before Christmas 
Newsgroups: soc.singles
Date: 2001-12-13 13:51:10 PST 
 
'Twas ten nights before Christmas, and all through the house
All the cretins were posting -- much clicking of mouse.
The children were fair game revenge on "gunhed"
So new buggering and witchcraft accusations were said.

Jeem's wife oh so loving, placed the shovel on her lap
And stood by just in case Steve walked into their trap.
When out near town hall there arose such a clatter
Jeem sprang from his car to see what was the matter.

Away to the stairs, he noticed the bash
Tore through the bum rush averting a slash.
The blood on the breast of the new fallen shmoe
Gave the lustre of sunset to the poor gent below.

When what to his wondering eyes should appear
But the face of the man who was turned into smear.
It was surely a fat man lying in the blood slick
But when queried of Gunhed, he knew not the nick.

More rapid than turtles the town police came
And then the King Dumbass called the droogies by name:

On Ian, on Chaim, on Michael and Shawn!
On Jim and on "Jackie"!  On John, and, er, John!
We jumped the wrong guy for our holiday queer!
You ain't gotta go home, but get the hell outta here!

And then, in a twinkling, there was heard an "ooph".
A shiny black nightstick came down on Jim's hoof.
The lady cop who threw it said, "Yes!" at the sound.
'Cause she now wouldn't be forced to touch that old hound.

The rest got away for their young feet could run it.
Jeem jumped in the car, ditched the shovel and gunned it.
The bundle of ropes, he tossed into the back
Which broke Jackie's arm from the calcium lack.

The soc.team's eyes glared and their cheeks burned with rage
As they plotted the wording for Mike's next webpage.
"And this time," Chaim said, "It must have some real humor."
Then Jackie, sobbing, mentioned Nilo's late tumor.

At which point the two Johns silently mouthed, "Shit,"
Just barely audible, but not enough to commit.
The party all went to Jeem's house for a beer
And did their best to make some holiday cheer.

(Cue Danimal, "Fascinating," wiggling his pointy ear.)

Meanwhile, at the station, Jim desperately pleaded
"Why no handcuffs?" and was answered, "Not needed.
Although you were involved in a group battering,
We don't see an attempt on a cop from you mattering."

The investigation didn't take long to conclude.
The cops, within days, had rounded up the brood.
When asked why they jumped a visiting district attorney
They quickly laid blame on, guess who?  Steve Chaney.

"Did he tell you to beat up this man," asked a detective.
Jim said, "No, but he's fat, and therefore, defective.
So we called him out, and then outed his mother."
"I see," the cop nodded, while signalling another.

A stack of papers were promptly sent to Jim's wife
Who signed them and got duly paid for her strife.
Jeem's wife got the same papers, but she stood by her man
Well, until she met Brad Pitt and they moved to Japan.

As for the rest of the bunch, for whom there was no care
They were busy bragging of the beatdown in the square.
Might have gotten the wrong guy, but a fatty nontheless
Now they can claim manhood, and beat on their chests.

Pat-acceptance was back up, with even more neat cartoons
And Mike actually got honest, with terms "spics" and "coons".
Steve continued to be a big thorn in their sides
And they kept on letting him chap their delicate hides.

And I just shook my head, while munching on a sopapilla
Trying to get organized for my move to the villa.

Well, that's all the "prophetic" parody I could stand to say
May you all get what you need and deserve on that day.

-- 
Kthulah -  http://kthulah.rr.nu
P<(o)>etry Editor: http://www.shoggoth.net
"Forests may fall, but not the dusk they shield;" --- from _The_Wood_ by H.P. Lovecraft

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Last Modified January 7, 2007