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.
The Weakonomist was nestled all snug in his chair, while visions of Baker danced in the air.
Mrs. Micah in her kerchief and MLR in his cap had just settled down for a long winter tweetchat.
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.
The moon on the breast of the Squawkfox’s melons gave the lustre of mid-day to MoneyMonk’s lemons.
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;
Now Matt! Now Adam! Now Woj! and Nickel on Claire, on Ray on Laura, and Flexo.
To the depths of the web! to the top of my wall! Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
They ran to the militia and signed up in droves. Then over to Wisebread for deals on great robes,
So up to my house-top the bloggerrs they flew, With the sleigh full of answers, and Jeremy too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof Jeff Rose and Kelly both acting aloof.
As I clicked on my keyboard, with a quite pensive frown, through my firewall St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, and a bible from Bob was tucked in his crook;
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!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, cause credit’s not needed for his gifts in tow;
Two lonely dollars he held tight in his teeth, And a bargain shop necklace he wore like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly, That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was lazy but fruGal, a right jolly old ellef, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
But I was a Samurai who once had been dead, which led me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went for broke, And filled Debt Kids stockings; then turned for a smoke,
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
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