'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the LOD
Not a member was stirring, not even Trixie;
The Lincolns were parked in the garage with care,
In hopes that Carlisle soon would be here;
The members were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of trophies danced in their heads;
And mamma with her TC, and I with my Mark,
Had just finished detailing for the long winter park,
When out on the web there arose such a clatter,
I sprang to the ‘puter to see what was the matter.
Away to the forums I clicked in a flash,
Opened the home page hoping the PC wouldn’t crash.
The glare on the monitor of no threads and posts,
Made the room appear to have objects like ghosts,
When, what to my heavy eyes should I see,
But a CE Mark VIII, and eight of the LOD,
With a mysterious driver, or so did it seem,
I knew for the moment it must be a dream.
More rapid than most, his Mark VIIIs they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Driller! now, Leo! now, Alexander and Jeremi!
On, Huggybear! on Rene! on, Bill Eynon and Bill Cuddy!
To the LOD tent! To the top of the hill!
Now wash away! Wash away! Wash away all!"
As water spots dry before the towels can fly,
We pray it won’t rain, looking up to the sky,
So up to the LOD tent in the Mark VIII’s they flew,
With the trunks full of cleaners, and polishes too.
And then, in the distance, I heard a sound like thunder.
The rain may hold off as I began to wonder.
As I shined up the wheels, and was turning around,
Off in the distance, I heard this loud sound.
He drove on the scene, in his shiny CE,
And we all stood and wondered, who could that be?
A box of trophies he had thrown in the trunk,
He looked just like Santa, I swear I’m not drunk!
His wheels -- how they twinkled! His car was so clean!
His CE was pristine, you know what I mean?
He opened his hood and what do you know,
His engine just glistened, almost had a glow;
But this was no ordinary naturally-aspirated Mark VIII,
You just had to see it, I swear it was great!
He had a supercharger all polished and a chrome cold air kit,
An intercooler, big injectors and nitrous in it!
The interior was spotless, with carbon-fiber trim,
Of course the A-pillar gauges custom fitted by him.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon let us know we had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And gave us all trophies; then turned with a jerk,
He put his hood down, and jumped in his seat
And giving full throttle, did a burn-out up the street;
He did a 180, I heard the supercharger scream,
And then flew right by us… as I woke from my dream.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."
Not a member was stirring, not even Trixie;
The Lincolns were parked in the garage with care,
In hopes that Carlisle soon would be here;
The members were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of trophies danced in their heads;
And mamma with her TC, and I with my Mark,
Had just finished detailing for the long winter park,
When out on the web there arose such a clatter,
I sprang to the ‘puter to see what was the matter.
Away to the forums I clicked in a flash,
Opened the home page hoping the PC wouldn’t crash.
The glare on the monitor of no threads and posts,
Made the room appear to have objects like ghosts,
When, what to my heavy eyes should I see,
But a CE Mark VIII, and eight of the LOD,
With a mysterious driver, or so did it seem,
I knew for the moment it must be a dream.
More rapid than most, his Mark VIIIs they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Driller! now, Leo! now, Alexander and Jeremi!
On, Huggybear! on Rene! on, Bill Eynon and Bill Cuddy!
To the LOD tent! To the top of the hill!
Now wash away! Wash away! Wash away all!"
As water spots dry before the towels can fly,
We pray it won’t rain, looking up to the sky,
So up to the LOD tent in the Mark VIII’s they flew,
With the trunks full of cleaners, and polishes too.
And then, in the distance, I heard a sound like thunder.
The rain may hold off as I began to wonder.
As I shined up the wheels, and was turning around,
Off in the distance, I heard this loud sound.
He drove on the scene, in his shiny CE,
And we all stood and wondered, who could that be?
A box of trophies he had thrown in the trunk,
He looked just like Santa, I swear I’m not drunk!
His wheels -- how they twinkled! His car was so clean!
His CE was pristine, you know what I mean?
He opened his hood and what do you know,
His engine just glistened, almost had a glow;
But this was no ordinary naturally-aspirated Mark VIII,
You just had to see it, I swear it was great!
He had a supercharger all polished and a chrome cold air kit,
An intercooler, big injectors and nitrous in it!
The interior was spotless, with carbon-fiber trim,
Of course the A-pillar gauges custom fitted by him.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon let us know we had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And gave us all trophies; then turned with a jerk,
He put his hood down, and jumped in his seat
And giving full throttle, did a burn-out up the street;
He did a 180, I heard the supercharger scream,
And then flew right by us… as I woke from my dream.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."
