By Charles Olken

Tis the Night before Christmas, when all through the house,
Not a creature is stirring, except for my mouse.
The stockings are hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that more fodder for blog soon would be there.

The bloggers are nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Parker-gaffes dance in their heads;
And Sam Dugan in her kerchief and Wark in his cap
Have just settled down for a long winter’s nap.

When over in my office, there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
When what to my bleary eyes should appear by the oodles,
Than a new slew of emails being driven by Poodles

With a little old driver, he could be our Pastor,
I knew in a flash, it must be Hosemaster
More biting than acid, his barbs how they came
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.

Now, Berger! Now, Bonne’! now, Alice and Asimov
On, Alder The Yarrow! on, Dunne and Steve Heimoff
Covered in corks, from his head to his toes,
His visage, like Rudolph’s, was led by red nose.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Jay Miller from Bobby, Nat MacLean, now there’s a jerk,
And laying his finger on WineDoody and Tim Fish,
He bound up the chimney and left with this wish

He rousted the Poodles, to them he did whistle
And flew away all, like the down from Doc Vino’s thistle
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL, A GOOD NIGHT!