With apologies to Mr. Moore….
Twas the night before Xmas, and all through the land,
not a whisper was heard, perhaps they were banned?
The faithful just sat with their ears to the ground,
hoping that mfoya soon would make a sound.
Other loyals slept, tucked, snug in their beds.
While visions of photochops danced through their heads.
Sunny at standby, mfoya at her keys
about to send out it’s latest tease.
When on the internet there rose such a clatter,
they ran to their *Windows* to see what was the matter.
When what to their vapid little minds should appear,
but a miniature bus and eight tiny reindeer.
They knew at that moment it was the internet cop,
coming to get them for being over the top.
As they started to shake, and then turned around,
down the chimney he came, with nary a sound.
He flashed them a smile, then gave them a wink,
then washed their mouths out with soap at the sink.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
pulling their internet connections out with a jerk.
He took all of their keyboards, their printer, their mouse,
not a chop was left once he had cleaned house.
Then laying his *finger* upside his nose,
giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He went to his bus, gave his reindeer the whistle,
and they flew off in the sky like a heat-seeking missle.
But we heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.