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Twas the night before Christmas

  1. Nov 21, 2004 #1


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    Staff: Mentor

    I know that here in the US the Christmas season doesn't officially start until the day after Thanksgiving, but they were playing Christmas music at the store yesterday and had all of the Christmas stuff out and it got me in a Holiday mood. :biggrin: This has been around a few years.

    'Twas The Night Before Christmas

    '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 domestic rodent known as Mus


    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 travelling 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


    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


    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


    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."

    HO! HO! HO!
  2. jcsd
  3. Nov 21, 2004 #2
    :rofl: :rofl: :rofl: :rofl: Oh we're such nerds.... :tongue2:
  4. Nov 21, 2004 #3
    I am going to suffocate from the jargon in the air.

  5. Nov 21, 2004 #4
    I don't get it.... thats a good thing isnt it?
  6. Nov 21, 2004 #5
    I prefer the term "geek", but that's just me. :biggrin:
  7. Nov 21, 2004 #6
    Leave it to Evo to make even children's literature overly scientific. :grumpy:
  8. Nov 21, 2004 #7


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    Staff: Mentor

    :biggrin: I like this version better. :approve: :rofl:
  9. Nov 22, 2004 #8
    Here's my contribution to Christmas Poetry. Based on a true story

    Twas the day after Christmas
    one thought filled me with glee.
    I could brag to the Forum,
    "See what Santa brought me!"

    I'd unwrapped my gift
    20 hours ago.
    A laptop, by Compaq
    a Pentium Pro.

    I slid my finger
    along the thin spine.
    Then took out a cloth,
    gave the emblem a shine.

    I unlatched its hinges
    and lifted the lid.
    I would use it on PF,
    and that's just what I did.

    About five hours later
    the laptop worked great.
    But I had a problem:
    "I must urinate."

    "Look, I can carry this,"
    "All through the house."
    "Isn't that special,"
    said my wannabe spouse.

    She was glaring at me,
    once I emptied my bladder.
    She didn't look happy,
    but I'd seen her madder.

    "Let's use my new present"
    "It's right here on the shelf"
    her present (it vibrates)
    I said,"Use it yourself."

    I knew that was bad,
    a bad thing to say.
    She reached for her present
    and threw it my way.

    I tried to duck
    I really did try.
    but that vibrating toy
    hit me right in the eye.

    then she took a step,
    and with a swift kick,
    she shattered the laptop.
    "That's for being a dick."

    Then, once she realized
    just what she had done.
    She looked at me and said,
    "I'm sorry hun."

    My holiday ruined
    I went back to bed.
    "We can still use my present,"
    was the last thing she said.

    I said okay
    and took the dildo.
    Then I got her back,
    I stuck it in the wrong hole!
    Last edited: Nov 22, 2004
  10. Nov 22, 2004 #9
    Lovely tribdog.
  11. Nov 22, 2004 #10
    Absolutely incredible, did you write that yourself?

    :rofl: :rofl:
  12. Nov 22, 2004 #11
    No, I got some help from Clement Clarke Moore.

    lol, of course I wrote it myself. took me almost 20 minutes too.
  13. Nov 22, 2004 #12
    You should be a poet
  14. Nov 22, 2004 #13
    Yeah, I miss sleeping in the streets, not being able to afford food. begging in rhyme.
    Actually what does it take to become a poet? write a poem? did it.
  15. Nov 22, 2004 #14
    Begging in rhyme makes you a starving poet.
  16. Nov 22, 2004 #15
    Since we're doing Poems tonight:

    The Calf-Path
    by Sam Walter Foss
    (NH 1858-1911)


    One day, through the primeval wood,
    A calf walked home, as good calves should;


    But made a trail all bent askew,
    A crooked trail as all calves do.
    Since then three hundred years have fled,
    And, I infer, the calf is dead.
    But still he left behind his trail,
    And thereby hangs my moral tale.
    The trail was taken up next day,
    By a lone dog that passed that way.
    And then a wise bell-wether sheep,
    Pursued the trail o'er vale and steep;
    And drew the flock behind him too,
    As good bell-wethers always do.
    And from that day, o'er hill and glade.
    Through those old woods a path was made.


    And many men wound in and out,
    And dodged, and turned, and bent about;
    And uttered words of righteous wrath,
    Because 'twas such a crooked path.
    But still they followed - do not laugh -
    The first migrations of that calf.
    And through this winding wood-way stalked,
    Because he wobbled when he walked.


    This forest path became a lane,
    that bent, and turned, and turned again.
    This crooked lane became a road,
    Where many a poor horse with his load,
    Toiled on beneath the burning sun,
    And traveled some three miles in one.
    And thus a century and a half,
    They trod the footsteps of that calf.


    The years passed on in swiftness fleet,
    The road became a village street;
    And this, before men were aware,
    A city's crowded thoroughfare;
    And soon the central street was this,
    Of a renowned metropolis;
    And men two centuries and a half,
    Trod in the footsteps of that calf.


    Each day a hundred thousand rout,
    Followed the zigzag calf about;
    And o'er his crooked journey went,
    The traffic of a continent.
    A Hundred thousand men were led,
    By one calf near three centuries dead.
    They followed still his crooked way,
    And lost one hundred years a day;
    For thus such reverence is lent,
    To well established precedent.


    A moral lesson this might teach,
    Were I ordained and called to preach;
    For men are prone to go it blind,
    Along the calf-paths of the mind;
    And work away from sun to sun,
    To do what other men have done.
    They follow in the beaten track,
    And out and in, and forth and back,
    And still their devious course pursue,
    To keep the path that others do.
    They keep the path a sacred groove,
    Along which all their lives they move.
    But how the wise old wood gods laugh,
    Who saw the first primeval calf!
    Ah! many things this tale might teach -
    But I am not ordained to preach.
  17. Nov 22, 2004 #16


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    Ah, tribdog, that's hysterical! A sweet Christmas poem to share with the whole family. :rofl:

    Smurf, that's a good moral to that story/poem. I really like it.
  18. Nov 22, 2004 #17
    Yeah, does anyone remember the back when Thanksgiving was Thanksgiving and not Christmas part one?
  19. Nov 22, 2004 #18


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    Yep...miss those days. I still refuse to put up any Christmas decorations until after Thanksgiving, even if there are houses on my block that started putting up the decorations as soon as Halloween was over! It spoils the fun of Christmas to start it so soon...then it just sort of trickles in and drags on rather than being just a few weeks of dazzle in the middle of winter.

    There's a radio station here that's been playing Christmas songs only for the past several weeks already. That's just too much. I wonder who their listeners are to make this a profitable idea?
  20. Nov 22, 2004 #19
    elves, mostly.
  21. Nov 22, 2004 #20

    Damned dirty elves.
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