amiga@ccwf.cc.utexas.edu (Paul) (11/19/90)
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Every creature was stirring with joystick or mouse. The 1541 was humming, but its speed was a bore; I knew by the wait it had to be a Commodore. The kids were all snuggled by the monitor's bright glow While multicolored sprites danced to and fro. I'd just settled down for a long winter's nap, Waiting for Rambo to load and some bad guys to zap, When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I glanced at my drive to see what was the matter. I could tell by the glare of its steady red light It was still sending data; at least it was all right. I ran to the window, banged my head on the sash (The kids continued to play and ignored the loud crash), When what to my watering eyes did appear But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer. With a little old driver who handled his team As lively and smoothly as machine language routine. Though they looped through the heavens, he was never space sick, Yet I get quite queasy just debugging BASIC. His eyes - how they twinkled; his waist was not slim. For a moment he reminded me of a Butterfield named Jim. He shouldered his pack, though it was quite a chore, The trod 'cross my lawn and burst open the door. I gasped in amazement (he no doubt thought me a jerk), But he ignored us completely and went straight to his work. He placed gifts 'neath our tree after clearing a place; The kids - paying him no heed - blasted aliens from space. He brought Bard's Tale, and Krynn, Seven Cities of Gold - Great software titles, both new ones and old. There was SuperBase and EasyScript, and what did I detect? There was even a hard drive from the folks at Xetec! He unpacked extra RAM, CPUs, and such things, Plus a mysterious black box the made my floppy drive zing. Then a wrapped gift he handed me; it wasn't a weighty one, But I knew in a moment 'twas a new 1581! Modems and monitors he pulled out of his sack And even a plotter I made him take back. But one gift he gave me I couldn't dispute; A lifetime subscription to the revamped COMPUTE. The jolly elf chuckled as he made for door. But he stopped, turned and asked if there was anything more. I booted up SpeedScript on my wife's 128 And dashed off a missive, praying I wasn't too late. Though it's scratched, dinged, and dented, and sometimes quite slow, My 64's a delight that others should know. 'Twould be such a pity to walk into a store, Only to be told, "It's not made anymore." So before Santa left on this magical night, I pressed a note in his hand and squeezed it real tight. "Take this message to Commodore in West Chester, PA. It says `Keep the 64s coming guys, at least though next May.'" "Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donner and Blitzen!" Up to the garage-top the coursers did loop And turned a neat figure eight past our basketball hoop. As they flew to the north past my sattelite dish, I was hoping that Commodore would grant my last wish. But if even if it didn't, I was still brimming with cheer Because finally tonight I'd learned the names of those deer. Rambo was still loading on my old 64 As I reentered the house and closed the front door. A carol was playing on our stereo SID, And the kids were apologizing for something they did. I went to the window and gazed into the night, But something caught my attention and gave me a fright. Santa's last gift rested there on the sill. I opened it up; 'twas a credit card bill. By Tom Netsel, in the December issue of Compute Magazine. Hope you liked that! Chris -- Amiga@ccwf.cc.utexas.edu .....Paul...... Listen to what I mean, not what I say.