Subject:      A holiday gift for my pals in aft-s...
Date:         Sat, 25 Dec 1999 05:13:30 -0700
From:         openbook@sirius.com (Blackhawk)
Organization: Search for Internet Text-based Intelligence
Message-ID:   <openbook-2512990513310001@ppp-asfm05-032.sirius.net>
Newsgroups:   alt.fan.tom-servo

              THE NIGHT BEFORE SERVO
                   By Blackhawk

Twas the night before X-mas and all through Tom-Servo,
No posters were peeping (too much Jose Cuervo)
The trolls were all flung into rec.ferrets lair,
In hopes that some loser would bite on them there.
The lurkers were tangled all up in their heads,
Even Dan Tropeas', which was soft like a bed.

And I, in this satire, along with ol' Cap,
Had just dropped a bomb in ol' sci.astro's lap.
When out in our froup there arose such a clatter,
I sprang to the group window, to see what was the matter.

Away to Tom-Servo, I opened it in a flash,
Highlighting my favorites, killfiling the trash.
200 new posts my newsreader now showed,
Giving lustre of "serious" to trollbait below,
When what to my wandering eyes should appear,
But a Nubian troll driving eight tiny peers.

With a pile-driver tongue, aimed sharply at Dan,
I knew that it must be the ghost of Cronan.
More rapid than eagles the Servoites came,
And he whistled, and flamed them, and called them by nym;

Now WuhWuhS! Now Sergey! Now Mortis and Infinity!
On MuhQuiS! On Wayland! On Antifrance and Jaime!
When the revolution comes we're the *first* against the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As a rumor across the whole Usenet will fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the newsfroup the coursers they flew,
With their sleigh full of Peeps, and Ol' Cronan too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the group
The prancing and pawing of each cheezy poof.
As I heard all the whiners, complainers and hounds,
Down Usenet came Ol' Cronan's ghost with a bound.
He was dressed in black fur, from his head to his foot,
His shoes patent leather, diamond studded to boot;
A bundle of "hate mail" he had flung on his back,
He looked like a street pusher selling some crack.

His eyes -- how electric! his intellect in play!
His laughter infectious ("Dan thought I was gay!!")
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the stubble on his chin was just right for the Bro';
A smouldering  keyboard he held tight in his teeth,
And smoke from it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a sharp little wit,
That shook people up (and gave some the shits).
He was chuckling at all of us, a right jolly old elf,
And I cried 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, but went straight to his work,
And trollerized the posters; then flamed all the jerks,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the Usenet he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team 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 Holidays to all, and you guys need a life!"

***
Blackhawk

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