Twas the night before Christmas and all through the pad not a blogger was stirring not even Matt Jabs.
The stockings were hung by the monitor with care. In Hopes that Trent Hamm soon would be there.
When down in the blog den there arose such a clatter J. Money sprang from his desk to see what was the matter.
Away to the window he flew like a flash, slipped on velour and fell on his ash.
When what to his wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature cooper, and eight tiny reindeer,
with a little old driver, so simple and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his bloggers they came, and he whistled and shouted and called them by name;
To the depths of the web! to the top of my wall! Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As I clicked on my keyboard, with a quite pensive frown, through my firewall St. Nicholas came with a bound.
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And a bottle O whiskey for Cash Money Pat.
His eyes — how they twinkled! his shoes were quite sleek! his gadgets and gizmo’s showed inner geek!
He had a broad face and a little round belly, That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
But I was a Samurai who once had been dead, which led me to know I had nothing to dread;
And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his cooper, to his bloggers gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.”
–Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy Holidays from Suburban Dollar