Found while trolling /.

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a computer was stirring, neither keyboard or mouse;
The packages were updated, each one with care,
In hopes that St. Linus soon would be there;

The daemons were idle using no CPU,
The firewall working left them nothing to do;
And mamma with her emerge, and I with apt-get,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s fetch,

When out on the net there arose such a clatter,
I sprang to kernel.org to see what was the matter.
Away to my browser I flew like a flash,
Opened a new tab and clicked the link mighty fast.

The words on my screen with release notes just so
Gave the lustre of mid-day to source code below,
When, what would make my wondering eyes smile,
But a official release in a gzipped tar file,

“Now, Red Hat! now, S.u.S.E.! now, Mandrake and Knoppix!
On, Slackware! on Debian! on Gentoo and Gnoppix!
To the nearest mirror! to the next major release!
Now build away! build away! build away all!

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the mirrors the hackers they flew,
To see their new toys, and thank St. Linus too.

He sprang to his keyboard, to his team sent a note,
And away they all flew to 2.7, new features they wrote,
But I heard him exclaim, ere make config was gone,
“HAPPY HACKING TO ALL, AND YOUR uptime RESTARTS AT DAWN!”

Click here to see the original Twas the Night Before Christmas Poem

Intel Night before Christmas
by Nabeel Ibrahim (ni@ieee.org)

‘Twas the night before Christmas,
And all over the ‘Net,
All the posts about Intel,
Made everyone fret,

The whiners were vocal,
They wouldn’t shut up,
Complaining about Intel’s,
FDIV cover up,

The engineers were nestled,
All snug in their labs,
Worrying about Intel’s,
Mistake in the fabs,

They made up excuses,
On how they’re affected,
They called upon Intel,
And were promptly rejected,

And soon IBM jumped,
Right into the fray,
“We’ll stop shipping Pentiums,
As of later today.”

But their statement was just,
More political lies,
Because they said the next day,
“We’re still shipping those dies!”

But from where came this noise,
And vindictive clatter,
About a minor flaw,
That should not have mattered,

Well there was a math Prof.,
Doing work in V A,
He came to realize that,
Divs shouldn’t happen this way,

So Prof. Nicely described,
The bug that he found,
It wasn’t too long later,
That news got around,

Lots of people complained,
Without reason or rhyme,
Just because number five,
Equalled four point nine nine,

The media latched on,
And rumors were spread,
It took no time to proclaim,
That Intel was dead,

As I was reading more news,
A thought came to me,
Intel can’t possibly die,
The have a monopoly,

So on Andy, on Craig,
On Gordon and Vin,
Make sure with P6,
This doesn’t happen again,

As I logged off, I thought:
“This debate is absurd.”
So I soon logged back in,
And uttered these words,

“There are too many issues,
I refuse to take sides.
Merry Christmas to all,
And watch your divides.”

HO, HO, HO!!

Click here to see the original Twas the Night Before Christmas Poem

Subject:      The Nights Before Christmas [Archive]
From:         jrf@NOSPAMcyberjunkie.com (JRF)

- The Input Process Before Christmas -
(Aka The Computer Version)

T’was the night before Christmas, and all through the shop,
The computers were whirring; they never do stop.
The power was on and the temperature right,
In hopes that the input would feed back that night.

The system was ready, the program was coded,
And memory drums had been carefully loaded;
While adding a Christmasy glow to the scene,
The lights on the console, flashed red, white and green.

When out in the hall there arose such a clatter,
The programmer ran to see what was the matter.
Away to the hallway he flew like a flash,
Forgetting his key in his curious dash.

He stood in the hallway and looked all about,
When the door slammed behind him, and he was locked out.
Then, in the computer room what should appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer;

And a little old man, who with scarcely a pause,
Chuckled: “My name is Santa…the last name is Claus.”
The computer was startled, confused by the name,
Then it buzzed as it heard the old fellow exclaim:

“This is Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen,
And Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen.”
With all these odd names, it was puzzled anew;
It hummed and it clanked, and a main circuit blew.

It searched in its memory core, trying to “think”;
Then the multi-line printer went out on the blink.
Unable to do its electronic job,
It said in a voice that was almost a sob:

“Your eyes – how they twinkle – your dimples so merry,
Your cheeks so like roses, your nose like a cherry,
Your smile – all these things, I’ve been programmed to know,
And at data-recall, I am more than so-so;

But your name and your address (computers can’t lie),
Are things that I just cannot identify.
You’ve a jolly old face and a little round belly,
That shakes when you laugh like a bowlful of jelly;

My scanners can see you, but still I insist,
Since you’re not in my program, you cannot exist!”
Old Santa just chuckled a merry “ho, ho”,
And sat down to type out a quick word or so.

The keyboard clack-clattered, its sound sharp and clean,
As Santa fed this “data” to the machine:
“Kids everywhere know me; I come every year;
The presents I bring add to everyone’s cheer;

But you won’t get anything – that’s plain to see;
Too bad your programmers forgot about me.”
Then he faced the machine and said with a shrug,
“Merry Christmas to All,” as he pulled out its plug,

“And to all, a good night!”

Click here to see the original Twas the Night Before Christmas Poem

A Hacker’s Night Before Christmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
Not a computer was stirring, not even a mouse.
The hard drives were left on in each computer case
With a database for Santa, punched up in dBase.

The hackers were all snug asleep in their beds,
While visions of access codes danced in their heads.
And I with my PC and Ma with her Mac,
Had settled in for a long winter’s nap.

When up from my modem there arose such a squeal,
I jumped from my bed and said, “What’s the deal!!?!?”
To my computer I tore like a flash,
Hoping I wasn’t suffering a Christmas Eve Crash.

A flashing green light on the front of my case,
Showed late-night activity (I hope not erase).
I turned on my monitor and what did appear,
But a .GIF old sleigh and eight blinking reindeer.

On a flashing bright icon I made a quick click,
And sure enough who appeared, but good old Saint Nick.
At 9600 baud the images they came,
As he loaded them up, he called them by name.

“Load Windows and Lotus, Prodigy and Quicken,
Add brand new DOS upgrades, and games for the children.
To the old root directory, to make room for them all,
How about a new hard drive, this one’s all full!

As I watched as he worked through the database with care,
Checking the gift list we had left there.
He searched into his bag and pulled out with aplomb,
Bright shiny new discs for the new CD-ROM.
A brand new fax-modem (well, who asked for that!?!?),
Bundles of SIMMS, co-processors galore,
From one board to another, he filled up each hole.
And when he was finished, the tower cases were full,
With fun new software, just ready to install.

Then lining the cursor alongside of his nose,
Out of my new SVGA, up slowly he rose.
He jumped out of DOSSHELL, my SoundBlaster did sound,
As the TSR fell away, ’til next Christmas comes around.

Then I heard him exclaim as he up-loaded from sight,
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good byte!!

Click here to see the original Twas the Night Before Christmas Poem

From: Gordie Zeigler
Date: 2004-12-17

“A Visit from old St. Geek”

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a hard drive was whirring, nor clicking of mouse;
The PC’s were unplugged from the network with care,
In hopes that a new version soon would be there;

The users were safe at home in their beds,
While screenshots of a new interface danced in their heads;
And the sys admin in his jeans, and I in my suede,
Had just hunkered down for a version upgrade,

When from the hard drive there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the seat to see what was the matter.
It clanged and it ground and smoke it did spew
And I swore I could smell the NIC frying too.

I reached for the keyboard and those magic three keys
But not in time could I get to “CTRL-ALT-DELETE”
The hard drive kept charging like some renegade
And I knew we were at the mercy of this version upgrade.

So outside I went for a nicotine binge
Knowing my job on this upgrade did hinge!
The vendor had promised this software would work!
But now where was he? At home, like a jerk!

The moon shone bright on the two cars in the lot
Just mine and the sys admin’s, that sorry sot.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear
A man in a VeeDub, smiling from ear to ear.

In his bag he carried books of languages of yore,
Pascal, Fortran, Cobol, Basic and more.
With a pocket protector and a shirt that was untucked,
I knew my problems were solved; I was no longer in trouble.

Yes I knew in an instant tho I could hardly speak,
I had been blessed by a visit from old St. Geek.
His clothes were unkempt; his shoes could have been cleaner,
But I was just happy to see his calm demeanor.

I stood there staring like a stop for the door
When he snapped his fingers and said, “Quick! To the raised floor!”
So I led the way down the halls to the IT server room
I led him in the door and not a moment too soon.

He jumped to the console and had nary a query,
The sys admin was nervous but I said, “Don’t be leery,”
“This man is exactly the resource we seek,”
“This man is none other than old St. Geek!”

With sweat from his brow and fingers that blazed,
He tickled the keyboard o’er the floor that was raised.
He got to a dialog where I thought he should click “OK”
But he knew the renegade software would say, “No Way”

With skill and aplomb he rescued our server,
He answered each prompt with incredible fervor.
The noise from the hard drive began to slowly subside,
And I could tell he’d be successful in turning the tide.

The server stopped groaning, and clanking and clinking
Not long after that the right lights were blinking.
He glanced at us over his shoulder, never missing a command,
And with a wink and a nod, said, “Who’s your Geek, man?”

He cleaned up the evidence of our upgrade gone awry,
And I knew in the morning the CIO would not cry.
My job would be spared and I am eternally glad,
For old St. Geek and the bag of tricks that he had.

He returned to his VeeDub and opened the moon roof
And ‘ere we could snap a picture to claim as our proof
He punched it and laid rubber but I did hear him say,
“Happy Holidays to all, and to all, safe upgrades!”

© Gordie Zeigler 12/2004, NewVa Corridor Technology Council
Obviously inspired by Clement Clark Moore

–
Gordie Zeigler, Executive Director
NCTC
108 N. Jefferson, Suite 306
Roanoke, VA 24016
in the Roanoke Higher Education Center
http://www.TheTechnologyCouncil.com

Click here to see the original Twas the Night Before Christmas Poem

Originally published in:
The Durham Herald-Sun

‘Twas the Night Before …
by Miriam Murdock of Chapel Hill

Twas the night before Christmas, and all thru the house
Every creature was stirring, yes, even the mouse.
The only one not raising clamor and clatter
Was the turkey defrosting upon his white platter.

Aunt Bonnie was upchucking about every hour
And, Freddy was howling with all his lung power.
Mama stood there patting him, head drooping low
Till papa took over for an hour or so.

Lights flashed on and off in every new room
And fan and disposal did rumble and boom
Freddy’s stocking was hung by the chimney with care,
But with all the commotion, how did it stay there?

But Santa still came, with Bonnie and Charlie
And in spite of it all our Christmas was jofly.

Click here to see the original Twas the Night Before Christmas Poem

“Well Dear,” Missus Valve asks adoringly of her hubby,
“are you going to get any of the children Christmas
presents this year?”

“Have I ever had to before?  You just leave it to me!
Gather up the little shi’ er ah, kids, and tell em ta meet
me downstairs in front of the tree.”

“Now honey buns, you aren’t going to do anything
foolish now are you? After all, this is the first time
the relatives have entrusted us to care for their kids
through the holidays.”

“Don’t nag me woman! I know what I’m doing!
I’m just gonna tell em a little Christmas story, that’s all.”

Missus Valve trys her best to conceal a frown and
hesitantly proceeds down the stairs. “Come children,
your Uncle Willie wants to tell you all a Christmas story.”

“Unkie Wiwwy, Unkie Wiwwy, are you gowing to tewwus
that stowy bout wumzy duh wed bashing wepubwican?”
You pwamissed!  You pwamissed!”

“Nah! lissen up, I got a better one.
It’s time you kids learned the story of Satan Nick,
so each’a yez take a seat, at arms length from
each other, buttun yer lips, and don’t interrupt.”

There once was a man,
twas the scourge of the land.
who, traveled around
with a sinister plan.

Possessing as slaves,
a commune of midgits,
he whipped and he beat,
whilst they made for him widgits.

From ordinary widjets,
one could not tell,
these were magically cast
from a COMMUNIST spell.

With a team of wild beasts
to ferret him forth,
he beset on the world
from his cave in the north.

Many were fooled
by the gifts he did give,
when he broke and he entered
the homes where they live.

For Tim a guitar amp,
made with tran-zisters.
He played till his fingers,
blood raw with blisters

He grew his hair long
and married a tramp.
Played hippy dip songs
with his solid-state amp.

As the spell on the amp
took over his soul
he spiraled to hell
in a Commie Black Hole

When, with comrades of ilk,
the Nam war he protested,
in the end twas his fate,
he was shot and arrested.

For Suzy was left,
a small book she did read,
which es-poused the evil
of communist creed.

After reading this book
she smoked crack and did whore,
contracted VD,
even voted for Gore

She fell in with communists,
eco-nut-kooks,
went on to author
more communist books

In case you are wondering,
where can she be?
she was eaten by bears,
whilst huggin a tree.

And old Satan Nick
some call “Commie Claus”
is delightfully laughing and
and mincing his paws.

His sinister plan
has worked once again,
he’s spread cross the land
this communist *sin*.

For in giving gifts
and sharing of love
his *evil* is spread
from the north, up above.

So, when Christmas trees
are lighted with lights
remember Timmy and Suzy,
their Chrstmas-time plights.

“Ok kids, off to bed now,
ya gotta get up early and open those presents.”

“Uuhhhhhh, that’s ok Unkie Wiwwy,
we don’t weewy want any pwesents.”

Click here to see the original Twas the Night Before Christmas Poem

Author:   Gary Galasso
Email: Gary.Galasso@worldnet.att.net

Hi everybody! Merry Christmas morning!
My eleven year old was so inspired by John Biltz and the Night before
Christmoose that he wanted to do his own and have me post it for him.
What follows is mainly his own work (blame it on him, not me please)
with a little editorial help from my alter-ego Evil Mary, who
occasionally reappears.  I’m sorry it’s not really HL related, but it
was inspired by John’s.

The Night Before Christmas
by Collins Galasso

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse–
Due to the fact that the mice were decaying inside our
big orange cat’s digestive system.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that the skunks wouldn’t tinkle in there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of cavities danced in their mouths.

And mama in her kerchief and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a crazy laughter
I rose from my bed to see what it could be,
And opened the shutter, which fell on my knee.

I crawled to the window with one broken leg
And saw the Terminator with a stuffed bag full of plagues.

Like fungi and mucus and other things icky,
He filled our stockings with things that were squishy.

And then jumped in his cement truck,
And covered our lawn flamingo with goo,
Our plastic ducks on the lawn,
and our plastic turkey, too.

And he said as he rode off in his jet,
I’ll be back!
With another plague attack,
On that you can bet.

The End

Click here to see the original Twas the Night Before Christmas Poem

From: James Hrubik (aa257@ACORN.NET)
Subject: The Night Before Xmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the Shack
Not a salesman was stirring, not even in back.
The CoCos were clearanced, not one in their stocks
Except for a demo left out of it’s box.

The PCs were silent, their screen savers dim
The Santa Claus virus had hit ‘em again.
When out on the floor there arose such a clatter
The demo woke up to see what was the matter.

A strange little hacker typed “DOS” on the keys
And the disk drive spun up just as quick as you please.
As OS-9 booted the green screen was cleared
And Multi-Vue’s window with icons appeared.

The cursor he moved with a cheap little joystick
To SuperComm’s icon; the button went “Click”
The modem connected, the lights they did flicker
The browser was text and for sure it was quicker.

He opened his mailbox and checked through the list
Observing extensions that Outlook had missed.
Deleting the SPAM and the hypertext too,
The ads and the porn never came into view.

A greeting he sent to the CoCoList crowd,
and I heard as he logged off and chuckled out loud,
Merry Christmas to all, and a word to the wise :
PRACTICE SAFE E-MAIL – USE A COCO!

OK, so some minutes I have too much time on my hands.
Merry Christmas, CoCoNuts!

—Jim Hrubik

Click here to see the original Twas the Night Before Christmas Poem

From: Paul B Harris (pbh@U.Arizona.EDU)
Subject: A Cigar From St. Nicholas (Long)

Well folks, it’s that time of year again, and like watching Rudolph, It’s
A Wonderful Life, Miracle on 42nd, A Christmas Carol, etc., for the 657th
time, the epic poem “A Cigar From St. Nicholas” has become an a.s.c.
traditional “rerun”.  I don’t post as much as I used to, but I’m still
around, still enjoying an occasional cigar, and still getting a kick out
of the guys and gals of a.s.c.  I wish everyone of you have the happiest
of holidays.

Cheers,
Paul

For the third year running, it’s….

- A Cigar From St. Nicholas (With Apologies to Clement Clarke Moore) -
- by Paul B. Harris

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the flat
I was all on my lonesome, except for the cat;
Earlier that evening, when I came home from work,
My girlfriend was waiting, just to call me a jerk;
She called me insensitive, she called me a lout,
She called her new boyfriend to help her move out;
Then before she left, just to “even the score,”
She flushed every cigar from my humidor.

With the smoke shops closed and an Arctic wind blowing,
My girlfriend gone and my john overflowing,
I settled on the couch with my old cat Frisky,
With lots of self-pity and lots of Scotch whiskey;
Because of the stress, or maybe because of the booze,
It wasn’t too long before I started to snooze,
But I was not destined for a long winter’s nap,
When Frisky dug in his claws and sprung from my lap.

As I grabbed at my crotch and screamed out in pain,
Thoughts of kitty homicide danced in my brain;
Then I heard a commotion from out on the street,
Undoubtedly the noise that caused Frisky’s retreat;
I went to the window and lifted the blind,
And seriously thought I was losing my mind;
On the street was a fat midget all dressed in red,
With some funky looking reindeer pulling his sled.

Whether he was real or not, onward he came,
Whistling to his deer, calling each by his name,
“Now, Cohiba! now, Hoyo! now Monte and R.J.!
On, Bolivar! on, Ramon! on, Upmann and El Rey!
To the top of the stoop! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As if sensing my need for a little more proof,
Santa and his reindeer flew up to my roof.

I decided to embrace this psychotic break,
Fighting these visions would be a mistake,
So I faced the fireplace where I knew he’d arrive,
And out flew Santa like a bee from the hive;
I said, “welcome Santa, to my humble home.”
He replied, “who are you and where is Ramon?”
I told him that Ramon had sold me his lease,
And retired to Miami to live with his niece.

Santa started to turn and his bag fell agape,
Revealing boxes and bundles of familiar shape;
Then I noticed the robusto, clenched in his teeth,
Sending out the aroma of aged Cuban leaf;
I said, “don’t leave yet” and pushed him back in a chair,
“You’ve a long night ahead, and it’s freezing out there.”
Then I ran to the kitchen to fix him a bracer,
A cup of scotch and a sugar cookie chaser.

St. Nick must have thought it was juice from the udder,
He shot down four fingers and started to sputter,
His nose and cheeks turned even rosier than before,
When he handed back the cup and asked for some more;
As we drank, he must have seen my look of despair
And noticed my humidor, open and bare,
Because he handed me a most wonderful thing,
An eight inch cigar with a fifty-two ring!

The wrapper was rich brown, like coffee with cream
And smoother than silk with no visible seam;
A thin layer of oil caused the whole thing to glow,
Like a deep polished wood, or moonlight on snow,
And the aroma it emitted was so rich and sweet,
My brain almost mistook it for something to eat;
Once lit, the draw was neither too loose nor too tight,
With a burn so slow I could smoke it all night.

And the flavor!  How does one describe perfection?
I have never smoked such a complex confection;
I could taste sugar and spice, wood and coffee,
There was pepper and chocolate, cinnamon and toffee;
Each draw brought a different blend to the flavor,
Some unique combination for my palette to savor;
Somehow each draw I took was able to surpass,
The complete perfection of the draws that had past.

I said, “Santa, I have never smoked such a brand,
But I noticed your picture, here on the band,
And ‘El Rey del Norte,’ I assume that is you,
Does this mean that you’re toy making days are through?”
Santa smiled a sad smile and slowly shook his head,
“I fear the demand for hand-made toys is dead;
My elves are ‘Old World’ craftsman and stuck in their ways,
They know nothing of computers or video displays.”

“We let the parents take over, we thought we could rest,
But we found that work is what elves like the best;
Then it hit me, I could retrain all of my elves,
And premium cigars could refill Santa’s shelves;
I’ve been flying folks out of Cuba since ‘59,
So I called in some markers, I asked for their time;
I flew a few dozen experts up to the Pole,
To educate my elves in the art of the roll!”

“Now each year Cuba loses some of its best leaf,
And no one has been able to capture the thief;
With this tobacco and skill, and magic and mirth,
My elves roll the best smokes on the face of the earth;
I consider this ‘recovery,’ it’s not really theft,
Most of my product goes to Cubans who left,
Like the guy who used to live here, your old pal Ramon,
These folks deserve compensation for losing their home.”

“My supply is small, I deliver once a year,
It’s a really good workout for me and the deer;
I’d like to include you, but what can I say?
Maybe if production increases some day.”
Well I was not about to let opportunity pass,
As Santa talked I kept refilling his glass,
And when his speech slurred and his voice became thicker,
I discovered that elves could not hold their liquor.

By the time Santa left he was totally pissed,
As an “Honorary Cuban” I was put on his list!
He restocked my humidor, it was filled to the brim,
And he promised that next year he’d restock it again;
I helped him up the stairs and into his sleigh,
He wouldn’t be driving, the deer knew the way,
And as I watched him and the deer fly into the night,
I thought, “what a great Christmas, now who has a light?”

Click here to see the original Twas the Night Before Christmas Poem