THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS
--------------------------

American Version
----------------

'Twas the night before Christmas - old Santa was pissed!
He cussed out the elves and threw down his list.
"Miserable little brats, ungrateful little jerks,
I have a good mind to scrap the whole works!"

"I've busted my butt for damn near a year,
But instead of 'Thanks,  Santa', what do I hear?
The old lady bitches 'cause I work late at night,
The elves want more money and the reindeer all fight."

Those $%#holes from the IRS sent me a letter."
"They say I owe taxes - if that ain't funny!
Who ever sent Santa Claus any money?
And the kids these days - they're all the pits!
They want the impossible...those mean little $%#ts."

"I spent a whole year making wagons and sleds,
Assembling dolls...their arms, legs and heads.
I made a ton of yo-yos - no request for them...
They want computers and robots...they think I'm IBM!"

"If you think that's bad, just picture this -
Try holding those brats with their pants full of p%$$!
They pull on my nose, they grab at my beard,
And if I don't smile, the parents think I'm weird."

"Flying through the air, dodging the trees,
Falling down chimneys and skinning my knees,
I'm quitting this job...there's just no enjoyment,
I'll sit on my fat but and draw unemployment."

"There's no Christmas this year...
Now you know the reason.
I'm going to go south for the season!"


Geek Version
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Twas the night before acceptance, 
and all through the house, 
not a program was working, 
not even a browse. 

The programmers were wrung out, 
too mindless to care, 
knowing chances of turnover 
hadn't a prayer. 

The users were nestled 
all snug in their beds, 
while visions of inquires 
danced in their heads. 

When out in the lobby, 
there arose such a clatter, 
I sprang from my tube 
to see what was the matter. 

And what to my wondering 
eyes should appear, 
but a super programmer, 
oblivious to fear. 

More rapid than eagles, 
his programs they came, 
and he whistled and shouted 
and called them by name: 

On Update! 
On Add! 
On Inquiry 
and Delete! 
On Batch Jobs! 
On Closing! 
On Function Complete! 

His eyes were glazed over, 
his fingers were lean, 
from weekends and nites 
in front of the screen. 

A wink of his eye 
and a twist of his head 
soon let me to know 
I had nothing to dread. 

He spoke not a word, 
but went straight to his work, 
turning specs into code, 
compiled without a quirk, 
and laying his finger 
on the lone "Enter" key, 
the system came up 
and it worked perfectly! 

The updates updated, 
the deleted deleted, 
the inquires inquired, 
and the closings completed. 

With nary an abend, 
he tested each bell, 
not a single core dump, 
all sure had gone well. 

The system was finished, 
the tests were concluded. 
The client's last changes 
were even included; 

then the client exclaimed 
with a snarl and a taunt, 
"It's just what I asked for, 
but not what I want!!!" 


Politically Correct Version
---------------------------

Twas the night before Christmas and Santa's a wreck...
How to live in a world that's politically correct?
His workers no longer would answer to "Elves".
"Vertically Challenged" they were calling themselves.
And labor conditions at the North Pole
Were alleged by the Union to stifle the soul.
Four reindeer had vanished, without much propriety,
Released to the wilds by the Humane Society.
And Equal Employment had made it quite clear
That Santa had better not use just reindeer.
So Dancer and Donner, Comet and Cupid
Were replaced with 4 pigs, and you know that looked stupid.
The runners had been removed from his sleigh;
The ruts were termed dangerous by the E.P.A.
And people had started to call for the cops
When they heard sled nosies on their roof-tops.
Second-hand smoke from his pipe had his workers quite frightened.
His fur trimmed red suit was called "unenlightened".
And to show you the strangeness of life's ebbs and flows,
Rudolf was suing for unauthorized use of his nose
And had gone on "Kilroy", in front of the nation,
Demanding millions in over-due compensation.

And as for the gifts, why, he'd never had a notion
That making a choice could cause so much commotion.
Nothing of leather, nothing of fur,
Which meant nothing for him.  And nothing for her.
Nothing that might be construed to pollute.
Nothing to aim, nothing to shoot.
Nothing that clamored or made lots of noise.
Nothing for just girls, nothing for just boys.
Nothing that claimed to be gender specific.
Nothing that's warlike or non-pacific.
No candy or sweets... they were bad for the tooth.
Nothing that seemed to embellish a truth.
And fairy tales, while not yet forbidden,
Were like Ken and Barbie - better off hidden.
For they raised the hackles of those psychological
Who claimed the only good gift was one ecological.
No baseball, no football... someone could get hurt;
Besides, playing sports exposed kids to dirt.
Dolls were said to be sexist, and should be passe;
And Nintendo would rot your entire brain away.

So Santa just stood there, disheveled, perplexed;
He just could not figure out what to do next.
He tried to be merry, tried to be gay,
But you've got to be careful with that word today.
His sack was quite empty, limp to the ground;
Nothing fully acceptable was to be found.
Something special was needed, a gift that he might
Give to all without angering the left or the right.
A gift that would satisfy, with no indecision,
Each group of people, every religion;
Every ethnicity, every hue,
Everyone, everywhere... even you.
So here is that gift, it's price beyond worth...
"May you and your loved ones enjoy Peace on Earth.
Except Serbs, Croation"

--
Vectored by Moose Mansions (http://www.splange.freeserve.co.uk/)