Hey again. Read this poem on the 501st central garrison forums and immediately thought of TDH. So I had to post it.

Credit and thanks to "Imperial Mistress" (http://www.myspace.com/imperialmistress) for this!

enjoy!

THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS
(A VISIT FROM ST. BOBAFETT)

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the stars
Things were all right, except for some wars;
The stockings were hung in my smuggling freighter,
In hopes that St. Bobafett would stop by here later;

The clients were nestled all snug in my ship
(They promised 17 thou for an Alderaan trip);
My first mate in fur and I in my vest
Napped, eager for the pay from our guests.

When out on the hull there arose such a buzz,
I checked the ship's sensors to see what the deal was.
I picked up visual scanning and looked into space,
Pressing against the canopy the nose on my face.

The stars in the distance lightened the Falcon in motion,
Making things brighter than a TIE fighter explosion,
When, what to my wondering eyes looked upon,
But an elephant-looking ship, and eight tiny tauntauns,

With a masked, armored pilot, if I were to bet,
I would in a flash have said it was Fett.
More rapid than speeders, his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

Now, Johnny! now, Ralphie! now Benny, and Gary!
On Irvin! on Frankie! on Richie, and Larry!
To the top of the Falcon! to the ship's quadrant rear!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away near!"

As mynocks onto your ship they will hug,
Whenever you're in the intestines of a giant space slug,
So on to the Falcon the tauntauns they flew,
With a cargo hold of toys, and St. Bobafett too.

And then, on the hull, I heard the beasts walk about
(They smell worse on the inside than they do on the out).
As I left the cockpit and snuck through the lounge,
In the exhaust port St. Bobafett came with a bound.

Accentuating his armor were a red velvet cloak,
a hat, and two gloves (all were blackened by smoke);
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
Careful not to set off his touchy jet pack.

His mask -- it was weathered! His cape was all torn!
His boots had small holes, his pants were all worn!
While his bounty hunting skills left much to be desired,
One who gives gifts and good cheer must be admired.

He downed the blue milk and wolfed all the cookies
That were set there for him by me and the Wookiee,
He sure loved dessert, since he sported a gut
That shook when he mumbled, like a certain vile Hutt.

He clumsily sneaked, without right jolly old guile,
So I let loose a sheepish grin, in true Harrison style;
His glance towards me, his salute as I peeked,
Soon gave me to know 'twas not bounty he seeked;

He murmered a bit, that guy so laconic,
While filling the stockings with gadgets 'lectronic.
Then laying his finger aside his trademark mask "T",
And giving a nod, out the exhaust port he fleed;

Towards the stars he then flew, only without his starship;
His jet pack had fired 'cause the Unlucky One had tripped!
I heard him cry out -- though effeminately like Ma --
"HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-- AAAAAAAHHH!!!."



Happy Holidays!