DX in Sang Sacre:

Just Another Christmas in Sang Sacre

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the town
Not a creature was stirring, not even a clown.
The party was over, the bar was now closed,
And snowflakes fell gently as everyone dozed.

The penguin was nestled all snug in his bed,
While visions of herring bits danced in his head,
So I sat in my study late into the night,
And caught up on the board by the monitor's light.

I typed up a note to be posted in Natter,
When out from the street there arose a great clatter.
I went to the window, and peeked though the blind,
Without an idea about what I would find.

The moonlight lit up all the new-fallen snow,
It was bright as midday, the world seemed aglow.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a honking great sleigh with a single reindeer.

But that was no reindeer, 'twas a dog name of Max.
And the back of the sleigh held a great pile of sacks,
And a furry green driver, the reins in his clinch,
I knew in a moment it must be the Grinch.

"We must stop! We must stop!"
His cadence kept drumming
"We must stop! We must stop
This Christmas from coming!
Now wait by the front porch,
I'll go through the door.
We've done all the houses,
There's just this one more."

And the Grinch then hopped down from his elegant ride,
Then he twirled on his heel, and he tip-toed inside.
He gathered up presents, and filled up a sack
And the ornaments, also, were soon in his pack.

The Grinch had been careful so he wouldn't be heard,
But he had not reckoned with the ears of a bird,
So there in the doorway, a penguin quite small,
Was asking why Santa was taking this haul.

But, you know, that old Grinch was so smart and so slick,
That he thought up a lie and he thought it up quick.
"Why my sweet little bird," —the fake Santa Claus lied —
"There's a light on this tree that won't light on one side."

So he got him a drink, and he patted his head,
And the trusting young penguin went back to his bed.
The Grinch grabbed his pack, and he turned round to flee,
And that's when he saw —unexpectedly —me.

His eyes, now they narrowed, his expression was wary,
His cheeks drained of color, his face wasn't merry.
His mouth came to life, and he muttered, "Oh, bugger..."
Because he had noticed my Louisville Slugger.

He looked all around for a way back outside,
Or at the very least a safe place he could hide.
I moved ever closer as I brandished my bat,
And I said to the Grinch, "It's time we had a chat."

So, converse there we did, I did not raise my voice.
At the end of our chat, I gave him a fair choice.
He could put back the presents, the trees, and the lights,
Or I'd call up a preacher to read him last rites.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And I followed along, to make sure he'd not shirk.
He replaced all the stockings, the gifts, and the trees,
He brought back the roasts and the holiday cheese.

He when he had finished, with the sky turning gray,
He called out for Max, and climbed into his sleigh.
And I yelled after him, 'ere he slunk out of sight,

"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"

Cindy in Bitches (proving that great minds do, indeed, think alike)

'Twas the Night After Solstice sorta by me

'Twas the night after Solstice, when all through Spike's Bitches
Not a creature was stirring, not even hedge witches;
Our stockings were hung by the chimney and yet,
Sean up and walked off with juliana's fence nets;

The Bitches were nestled all snug in their bunks,
Having visions of sugar-plums or just maybe hunks;
Teppy in her ski clothes, but many in gowns,
Had just settled down for their long winter's slounge,

When out on the 'net there arose such a clatter,
I sprang to b.org to check out the Natter.
Using Windows(TM) I flew like a flash,
Clicked open my favorites, avoided the slash.

The moon on the breast of the U.S. midwest
Gave the lustre of mid-day to many of b.org's best
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But ita's wet men, with many near bare!

I'm a little old lady, with dh and sprog,
But too many fine Bitches are in need of a snog.
More rapid than eagles the Bitches they came,
And I whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, TEPPY! now, ERIKA! now, GINGER and SJ!
On, MARIA! on LEE! on, LILTY and SA!
To the top of the page! to the top of the lists!
Now click away! click away! click away Bitches!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to ita's site their Windows they flew,
For an eye full of boys, and that girlie elf, too.

And then, in a twinkling, one of them asked on the 'net
"What about us Bitches who aren't strictly het?"
Unable to help them, I looked down at the ground,
When down the chimney P.M.M. came with a bound.

She was dressed all in leather, from her head to her foot,
Maternity corset laced loosely, dainty foot in wee boot;
A bundle of links she did fling on the board,
She can be such a peddler, she never did hoard.

Her eyes -- how they twinkled! Her dimples how merry!
Her cheeks were like roses, her nose like a cherry!
Her droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the skin on her shoulders was as white as the snow;

The core of a apple she held tight in her hand,
(Hey! Princess Ticky Box needs her vitamins, man);
She had a pretty face and a little round belly,
It moved, because there's a baby in there, silly.

She was macking on Fay, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw them, in spite of myself;
A wink of her eye and a twist of her head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

She spoke not a word, but went straight to her task,
And left many fic links too, we didn't have to ask,
And laying her finger aside of she nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney she rose;

She sprang to her sleigh, to her team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard her exclaim, ere she drove out of sight,
"HAPPY SURFING TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!"

Comm'ers Note: Both were posted on Dec. 23. On Dec. 23, 1823, the poem ''A Visit from St. Nicholas'' by Clement C. Moore was first published, in the Troy (N.Y.) Sentinel.

in Bitches, a discussion of actuaries and the frightening number of Bitches with actuarial degrees on the wall:

Betsy HP: Makes a mental note to hang something on the wall, maybe next year

Fay: Maybe an actuary?

billytea: DE-E-E-ECK the halls with act-u-ar-ies, falalalala, falalala/Maaaaybe add a dromedary, falalalala, falalala

(DX, I didn't know you'd posted one before I did. Your story is so great! *applause* Sorry, for the unintentional copycatting)

Cindy, I only posted, like, six minutes before you did. That's about as close to simultaneous as one can get for a coincidence like that. Not copycatting at all.

The Day before Christmas Eve in Natter:

kat perez - If you ever have to do random last minute shopping for kids in your family, do not, for the love of all things holy, go into Old Navy. No matter what those snarky carol singers in the commercials promise you, Old Navy does not offer an easy, breezy holiday shopping excursion. It will scar your soul.

I need a drink.

SA - You know, I do not doubt this is true. You might need a cigarette in addition to that drink.

NoiseDesign - And possibly a tetanus shot.

kat perez - I don't smoke, but I now have red wine and chocolate sitting next to my shopping trophy - a couple of strands of hair snatched from the head of a woman who tried to knock me into the middle of next week to get to a size 12 - 18 months blue and grey boy's fleece pullover while a whiny sales girl rambled on about how all striped hats were on sale for $2.99. Bitch thought she could take me out? Please.

Hah!

Also, seeing my name twice from one evening in COMM is all sorts of joyfyul.

erikaj demonstrates the true spirit of Christmas:

I got a card from the out-laws today that said that some monks or nuns or something from Saint Mary Immaculate were praying for me, with $20 in it. I'm with Rita Mae though "Lead me not into temptation. I can find the way myself." First resolution: Get into sufficient adventures that they won't be wasting the masses.

My GOD, how did I miss that one?!? Thank you, Betsy.

Aw, shucks, I'm all flattered and shit.