'Twas the Night Before the Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before the night before Christmas, way up at the Pole,

all the elves were on duty, each one with a goal.

The Fat Man's quota was clear, they had a deadline to meet.

"He's a _______ slavedriver!" the Head Elf did tweet.

The children's wishes this year, dreamed up in their heads,

were sure to put the Workshop's ledger deep in the red.

So Santa called a meeting, and banged on his gavel.

"Time for retraining boys, or Christmas will unravel!"

"These days kids want gizmos and gadgets galore,

to post, text and skype - and it seems much, much more. 

I can't say no - you know hard that would be

for a soft, sentimental old elf just like me."

 

So the University of the Arctic was quickly constructed,

elves tuition paid - "don't worry boys, all tax-deducted."

But the grumbling was audible, the feelings were bitter.

"I better see a refund," the Head Elf announced via Twitter.

"No time for complaints!" St. Nick screamed from his perch.

"We've got to learn in a hurry if we're going to make all this merch."

More rapid than Black Friday shoppers, the coursework he named,

Which he bellowed and shouted, and loudly proclaimed:

"Now Web Design! Now Programming! Now Applications and Licensing!

On Graphics! On Layout! C'mon boys, doesn't this all sound enticing?!

To the top of your class! Or you'll be shoveling Rudolph's stall.

Now hack away, hack away, hack away all!

As the cigarette's ash blows before the tray it doth fill,

each elf pushed through the night on caffeine and pure will.

So by dawn's early light the factory was reborn

to produce every manner of electronics for opening the next morn.

Assembly lines had replaced each elf's personal work station.

The union was busted, no more collective bargaining association.

"Don't worry boys," Claus once again confidently repeated.

"It's confirmed, he's a slavedriver," the Head Elf angrily re-tweeted.

But the lines were dutifully manned, each elf with a job,

assempling pads, pods and players for the next day's waiting mob.

The Jolly Old Elf wasn't jolly at all - just supremely annoyed,

reviewing lists with Samsungs and MacPros and some thing called a Droid.

His eyes -- how they burned! His dimples how creased!

His cheeks became flushed. "This madness must cease!"

His droll little mouth was drawn up in a frown.

"Their needs are insatiable - in town after town."

"Stop the machinery - Shut it down - Turn it off!"

Kris Kringle yelled out with a pleading, hoarse cough.

"Boys, I've done wrong, I got caught up in the chase,

of thinking Christmas was nothing more than a crazy rat race."

"So for this year I've decided to pull the old Switcheroo,
and give each parent a gift - a task really - something to do."
"Elves - you take the rest of the day off," Santa happily boasted.

"Not a bad guy after all," the Head Elf quickly posted.

The he spoke not a word, but went straight to his den,
writing every parent a note, with an old-fashioned pen.

Father Christmas' words were plain but came from his heart,

a gift to the whole world - a plea for a fresh start.

"Mom and Dad, I admire you, you have taken on quite a task,

of raising your children - there are just a few things I would ask.

Read to them when they are small - keep them warm, safe and fed.

Don't make them fear tomorrow when you send them to bed."

 

"And as they grow older, set good limits - it's okay to say "No."

Trust me, they will respect you - and in time - forego,

things all by themselves without your help or aid,

but from the lessons you taught them, foundations you laid."

 

"And it's okay for them to believe in me, a magical old Elf,

for a few precious years until I'm put on the shelf.

But they get you for a lifetime, do your best, always try,

for the time - just like Christmas - will be gone in a wink of an eye."

 

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE . . .