X-Mas

                    The Night Before Christmas 
                    --- ----- ------ ---------
(As told by Holden Caulfield, of J.D.Salinger's book 'The Catcher in the Rye') 
                    Written by Chris Vyce. 
  
       Oh hell, I hate this story, but I guess I'll tell you anyway. I'm
in the right mood for it anyhow. Sometimes you gotta be in the right
mood for this sappy story. I guess I am.

     Well, here we go. "T'was the night before Christmas..." T'was?
Are they serious? T'was? Obviously the people who wrote this didn'
know how to spell.  Maybe 'cause they didn't have a good English
teacher, or maybe 'cause they are just British. British people can't
spell anyhow.

     "When all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not
even a mouse.  The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in
hopes that St. Nick soon would be there." Can I say something about
'Ol' St. Nick? He's phony. Right down to his belly full of jelly. If
he's so great, why does he want to get all that shit all over his
suit? I'll tell you why! He's phony all the way through.  (Although he
does have great taste in the color hats to wear.)

     Anyway, I wonder what 'Ol St. Nick's' wife says about him
trapesing across countryside 'till all hours of the morning. She
probably doesn't like it! Then again, she is a moron anyway, living in
the North Pole. Have you ever noticed that all the phonies and the
morons end up together? Sorry, back to the goddamn story.  "The
children were all nestled..." Ha Ha. 'nestled'. That killed me.
"...while visions of sugarplums danced in their heads. And Momma in
her kercheif, and I in my cap had just settled down for a long
winter's nap. When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter I sprang
from my bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash. Tore open the shutter, and threw up
the sash." Threw up on the sash! How stupid, that killed me though. I always
wondered what it would be like if the line read 'and I threw up on the sash'.
Maybe that's what it really said and they had to censor it. Have I ever told
you the time when I was so drunk, I could barely stand, then I puked? No? Good,
I don't feel like telling you about it anyway. 'Threw up on the sash'. That
killed me.

     "The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow gave a luster of
midday to objects below." Well, I sure am bored as hell. Maybe what
i'll do is skip the boring part and get to the toys. Aw hell! I'll
just finish the book.  "When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer. With a goddamn rider
so jolly and quick I knew in a minute it must be St. Nick." Don't
these people know by now? St. Nick is a phony. Some people won't
realize things unless it is thrown at them. 'St. Nick.' gives me a
headache. He really does.

     "More rapid than eagle his coursers they came. And he whistled
and shouted and called them by name. Now Dasher! Now Dancer! On Comet!
and Donner and Blitzen!  Now Cupid!" I changed that myself. "To the
top of the porch, to the top of the wall! Dash away! Dash away! Dash
away all!" Haven't you had enought yet? This goddamn story has so many
pages. By the time the parents finished the book it would be Chrismas
day. Parents wouldn't read us the story anyway. They are too goddamn
stubborn. You practically have to pay them to read a story to
you. Even then they use phony excuses like 'It's too late' or 'We
already read that one'. How phony!

     "...and then in a twinkle I heard on the roof the prancing and
pawing of eight tiny reindeer. As I drew in my head and was turning
around, down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was all
dressed in fur from his head to his foot. His clothes were all
tarished with ashes and soot." See what I mean?  Soot all over his
fur. Phony! I swear to god! "A bundle of toys he had flung on his
back, and he looked like a goddamn peddler opening his sack." I
remember one of the only presents I ever got anyone. It was a record
that Phoebe wanted for a long time. Boy, was I stupid. I ended up
breaking the record into a million peices. I gave it to her anyhow,
and she apprciated it. She really did. Old Phoebe was one hell of a
girl. She really was. I gotta stay on the story, 'cause it will end
faster.

     "His eyes how they twinkled, his dimples, how merry. His cheecks
were like roses, his nose like a cherry. He had a broad face, and a
round little belly, that shook when he laughed like a bowl full of
jelly. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, and I cracked
up 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 didn't
say a goddamn word. He really didn't. He just kinda worked without
stopping.

     This is the part that really kills me. "And laying his finger on
his nose and giving a nod, up the chimney he rose" He is so phony, he
can't fool me. I know why he put his finger on his nose! He wanted to
pick it! I guess that is Human Nature, but in public that is gross. It
really is. Onward, only one more page. Thank god this goddamn book is
almost over.

     "He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle." They
crashed down on top of Stradlater's dorm. I hate him. He is a secret
slob, which is the worst kind.  Not exactly the exact ending, but it
will do. If you really need it, the ending it is "and they flew out of
sight, like a down from a thistle. But I heard him exclaim as he drove
out of sight." I'm tired and I wanna go home. Ha ha, just kidding. I
really am. He really said "Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good
night!"

     Well, that was fun, but I am bored as hell. Maybe I'll give old
Jane a call?  Nah, maybe not, she was probably busy anyhow. She
probably was.
  
  
                           The End. 
  
  

  
  
        T'was the night before Christmas, and all through the shop,
        The computers were whirring; They never do stop.
        The power was on and the terpreture right,
        In hopes that the input would feed back that night.
        The system was ready, the program was coded,
        And memory drums had been carefully loaded.
        While adding a holliday-like glow to the scene,
        The lights on the counsole flashed blue, white, and green.
        When out in the hall there arose such a clatter,
        The programmer ran to see what was the matter.
        Away to the hallway, he flew like a flash,
        Forgetting his key in a curious dash.
        He stood in the hallway and looked all about,
        When the door slammed behind him and he was locked out.
        Then in the computer room, what should appear,
        But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.
        And a little old man, who with scarcely a pause,
        Chuckled, "My name is Santa... The last name is Claus".
        The computer was startled, confused by the name,
        Then it buzzed as it heard the old fellow explain:
        "This is Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen
        And Comet and Cupid and Donner And Blitzen."
        With all these odd names, it was puzzled anew,
        It hummed and it clanked, and a main circuit blew.
        It searched in it's memory core, trying to "think",
        Then the multi-line printer went out on the blink.
        Unable to do it's electronic job,
        It said in a voice that was almost a sob:
        "Your eyes how they twinkle, your dimples so merry,
        Your cheeks so like roses, your nose like a cherry,
        Your smile, all these things I've been programmed to know,
        And at data-recall I am more than so-so;
        But your name and your address, (computers can't lie)
        Are things that I just cannot identify.
        You've a jolly round face and a little round belly,
        That shakes when you laugh like a bowl full of jelly.
        My scanners can see you but still I insist,
        Since you're not in my program you cannot exist!"
        Old Santa just chuckled a merry "Ho-ho",
        And sat down to type out a quick word or so.
        The keyboard clack-clattered, it's sound sharp and clean,
        As Santa entered this data into the machine:
        "Kids everywhere know me, I come every year;
        The presents I bring add to everyone's cheer;
        But you won't get anything, that's plain to see;
        Too bad your programmers forgot about me."
        Then he faced the machine and said with a shrug,
        "Happy holidays to all!", as he pulled out it's plug.
  
  

ON THE TWELFTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY COMPUTER GAVE TO ME: 
  12 BLOWN-OUT CIRCUITS
  11 DAMAGED DISKETTES
  10 DISK DRIVE LOCK-OUTS
  9 BURNED-OUT FUSES
  8 WORTHLESS PRINTOUTS
  7 SYSTEM RESETS
  6 IO SPASMS
  5 BLANK CASSETTES
  4 GARBLED SAVES 
  3 LOOSE PLUGS
  2 KEYBOARD BOUNCES
  AND A GLITCH ON THE VIDEO SCREEN