Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the station
Not a creature was stirring, not even a rat;
The stockings were hung by the control room with care,
In hopes that St. Pacifica would soon be there:
The listeners were nestled all snug in their beds;
while visions of resumed programming danced in their heads;
And Utrice in her 'kerchief, and Wash in her cap,
Had just settled down for a same sex nap,
When out on Wall Street there arose such a clatter
Utrice & Betsy sprang from bed to see what was the matter
Away to the elevator they flew like a flash,
Tore open the doors and threw up some cash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of midday to the cops down below,
When, what to their wondering eyes should appear,
But a monstrous limo pulled by eight tiny reindeer, (animal abuse)
With a fat ugly driver, not so lively or quick,
T hey knew in a moment it must be St. Pacific(a)
More evil than vultures his coursers they came,
And whistled and shouted and called out foul names;
Now Bernard and Van Isler and Amy and Nixon,
on anti labor lawyers Comet, Cupid, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the building to the top of the street named Wall;
Now dash away! dash away! dash 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 house-top the coursers they flew,
With the evil limo full of pink slips and St. Pacifica too.
And then, in a twinkling, they heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each suffering little hoof.
As Utrice drew in her hand, and was turning around,
Down the up elevator St. Pacifica came in a bound.
He was dressed all in fur (from his head to his foot,(what did you expect)
And his clothes were all tarnished with asbestos and soot;
A bundle of pink slips he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a dope peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes--bloodshot and twinkled! his dimples not merry!
His cheeks were sunken, his nose like a rotten cherry!
His tight lipped mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin looked like dirty snow;
The stump of a crack pipe held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a bad face and a very protruding belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of smelly.
He was fat and stumpy, an unfriendly old elf,
And Utrice laughed when she saw him, in spite of herself:
A wink of his eye and a jerk of his head,
Soon gave her to know, she had nothing to dread:
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filed all the pink-slips; then turned with a smirk,
And laying his finger up the side his nose,
He gave a nod and up in crack smoke he rose.
He sprang to his evil limo, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. (in pain)
But All heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
Screw Christmas To All, And To All A Good-Fight!"