'Twas the week before Yuletide, and all round the wharf
Not a creature was stirring, not one hyper dwarf
Though his britches were hung from the bowsprit with care
In hopes NASA'd mistakenly crash a shuttle in there
Meanwhile, down fathoms beneath the ship's keel
Conch Shell was saving the world with great zeal
Using ploys and devices considered quite salty
Though no one could argue the outcome was faulty
And The Chair was reclined beneath fresh Naugahyde
For which dozens of innocent Naugas had died
While visions of choo choo trains danced through his slats
City councillors abandoned the O-Train like rats
The IO was polishing personas in his lair
The Don Cherry one wore a plaid-laden glare
That sputtered and stuttered against the formalities
Ya gotta love a hard checker with multiple personalities
The coyote had chronicled it all in bad doggerel
(Something to do with overproof rum and egg noggerel)
When what to his unfocussed eye should appear
But a Mini full of chinchillas, and a cat dressed as reindeer
"They're fake antlers," said Aggie, "And I'll see you later
I'm off for a fling with a much-younger waiter,
And while I'm not certain it'll qualify as intimate,
I can say without doubt that I'm totally into it."
By now all our readers were dazed and confused:
"Hey, wasn't this metablog about that nice young Fifth Muse?"
But Agatha clarified as she jumped on a bus
"Merry Christmas to her -- but it's all about us!!"
...and from somewhere close by, but concealed from sight
Harmony hummed a few bars of O Holy Night...
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