THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISMES(SALAS)
by Fredman
'Twas the night before ChrisMes(salas), when all through the CTNO forum
Not an Ihubber was stirring, not even the mod;
The stickies were hung by the assistants with care,
In hopes that some volume soon would be there;
The investors were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of reverse mergers danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's recession,
When out on the forums there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the computer I flew like a flash,
turned on the power and threw up the google.
The moon on the desktop of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to icons below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature Shelby Super Car, and eight tiny ihubbers,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Chris.
More rapid than deflation his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Billiam_2! now, Colts3838! now, Bowman88 and Mastaflash!
On, Wallwizz! on Cable Dawg Crew! on, Garrett800ca and Fredman!
To the top of the posts! to the top of the boards!
Now type away! type away! type away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet at the Olive Garden for the buffett, so they can eat to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the Shelby Super Car full of shares, and St. Messalas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my mouse, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Chris came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of shares he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a trader just opening his sack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a Theramax he held tight in his teeth,
And the mist it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a boxfull of Ckrush dvd's.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his Shelby Super Car, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Happy ChrisMes(salas) to all, and to all a good-night."
