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"Observe Deimos, my post has nearly killed the Natter thread."

"Death is your art sir."

A Sang Sacre citizen taking a casual stoll down a street near Van Folly notices construction workers placing down concrete barriers, blocking off some streets. He asks the construction worker about it.

"Yeah, apparently they've got a presidential canidate, who knew?"

a presidential canidate

Canidate? No, Bill, you're already married.

sorry sorry sorry

hides in corner, muttering 'must not mock typos. I do it too'

"Presidential candidate?" Bob says, looking at the fliers. "I thought we were a crypto-anarchy."

"That's a vampire pun, isn't it."

"Very good, and on only half your usual caffeine, too."

"Why have all these people put lights on trees and buildings, Deimos?"

"It's for Christmas sir, you tried to destroy it last year. Or at least the fat man with the presents."

"Damn, how many days away is this event?"

"5 days sir."

"Come Deimos, we must stop this merriment at once!"

A sudden darkening of the pale winter sunlight outside my window makes me pause in wrapping presents, and a chill passes over me. I reach for my mug of mulled cider and turn the carols up a notch. The tacky egg lights strung around the window glow brighter, and warm my heart reassuringly. Only a few days away!

t what's that? The horns of role-playing do sound? Huzzah!

Damn, those "Really, this is what the director intended" DVD versions of LotR really eat up the time. Crap, how long was Return again, six days or something? But, wow, the Scouring they finally came up with was harrowing. Gosh.

"Achmed! What day is it!"

"Solstice--or near enough, sitt!"

"Uh ... which one?"

"Sitt?"

"Summer or winter?"

"Winter, sitt."

"What, it's Christmas again??"

"Every year, sitt."

"I missed Halloween??? Achmed, even if I'm having sex, you're supposed to tell me if I'm about to miss Halloween!"

"Bob threatened my life with a pickle fork, sitt, so I let you be. You missed the election. For a given value of 'miss', that is."

"That would have been the tremor in the Force a while back, right? Of a thousand souls crying out?"

"Yes, sitt."

"Damn. Well, there's only one thing for it, then."

"Everything's ready, sitt."

"Body armor?"

"Sent to the army, sitt, your blood pressure doesn't want to know why."

"Damn again. Weapons?"

"Small side arms only, sitt, they're cracking down on things that can be carried."

"Longswords are awkward in crowds anyway. Bags for carrying?"

"The portable hole is ready, sitt."

"Right then. Ave, Roma! We who are about to Christmas shop salute you!"

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!"

(I love DX)