Thursday, December 23, 2004

'Twas the Night Before Christmas (EVP Version)

'Twas the Night Before Christmas we had EVP

A parody
(and my ghost hunter gift wish list in a different window if you click the links;)
by Regmanabq

loosely based on a poem once thought by
Clement Clarke Moore
which seems to actually be a poem by
Major Henry Livingston Jr. (1748-1828)
Read about the controversy over who actually authored 'Twas the Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Only spirits were stirring, except me and my mouse;
night cams and strong mics were all hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

Adobe Audition was on the 'puters flat screen,
My night-vision goggles surveyed the whole scene;
My mics and my headphones were turned up to their cap,
I had just settled in to spring an electronic voice trap,

When out of the speakers there arose such a clatter,
I instantly sprang to see what was the matter.
But it was just windows with an update for flash,
I tore my poor hair out and cleared out my drive's cache.

The goggles were cool with their weird greenish glow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my techno green eyes should appear,
But a miniature ghost sleigh, and eight spirit reindeer!

That transparent old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles was my record button aim,
Digital cameras, recorders and tape players the same,

"Now, DASHER! now, DANCER! now, PRANCER and VIXEN!
To the top of the porch! and out through that wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

My hardware was smoking as I reviewed all the tapes,
I could see on the monitor where he went right through my drapes!
So straight to my blog, the proof files they flew,
of my ghost sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, my computer, it CRASHED!
All the files and proof were about to be trashed!
As I clicked with my hand, and things were turning around,
Down the chimney went my hard drive with a bad crunching sound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
His clothes filmed, all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
My AVIs showed this peddler just opening his pack!

I swear! -- his eyes twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, my crashes are rarely!
My night goggles and cameras were all set to low,
But the beard of his chin looked just like widescreen TV snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
But some smoke now encircles my drive like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
Yet my proof is as worthless as a bowlful of jelly.

He looked chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed cause I saw him, in spite of myself;
With a wink of an eye and a twist of his head,
I think St. Nick caused my crash! I can't talk to the dead!

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Voice recorders caught nothing as he turned with a jerk,
And laying a finger aside his white nose,
He gave me a nod, then up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, his ghost team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew, then they *poofed* with a sizzle!

I'd prove he exclaimed, if my drive weren't a sight:


Happy holidays to everyone, Everywhere.

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1 comment:

Anonymous said...

That was really funny!