'twas the night before smolmas
‘Twas the night before Smolmas, when all thro’ the house, No dev was stirring, no stealth launch to douse; The alfa was hidden by the mods with care, In hopes that St. Parmesano soon would be there;
The Smols were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of coconuts danced in their heads, And the Swols with their platez and the Toadz with their stoolz, Had just settled down for a long winter’s snooze –
When out on Monkey Island there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew in a flash, Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow, Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below; When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh and eight(ish) Legionnaires,
With a little old driver, so full of bravado, I knew in a moment it must be St. Parmesano. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and call’d them by name:
Now! Pixel, now! Duke, now! End, and Gaarp, On! Wyze, on! Timoraegi, on! Jumpman and Cheese;* To the top of the shrohm! To the top of the shuttle! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away you rubble!
*Twerk! Josh, twerk! Yuta, twerk! T1dev and Mao! Wait! Sisu, wait! Oh, I’ve really done it now.
As the banana leaves before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky; So up to the house-top the legionnaires they flew, With a sleigh full of alfa – and St. Parmesano too:
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and guffawing of each legionnaire goof; As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down to the chimney St. Parmesano came with a bound:
He was dress’d all in fur, from his head to his toes, He was deck’d out in treasures and struck a pose; A bundle of coconuts was flung on his back, And he look’d Swol resetting his rack:
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;
He had, we all knew, a quite grandiose scheme, But who could have predicted that all-star team! He had Magic to spare, offered time to amass, If only that VC had thought it an investable asset class.
He was hardworking and honest, a right jolly old elf, And I invested 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, well that’s not quite true, He had alfa for days, and the people all knew; And laying his finger aside of his nose And giving a note, up the chimney he rose.
He sprung to his sleigh, to his legions 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 Smolmas to all, and to all a good night!