350 Years of Christmas

On the North Pole flight pad, Christmas 'round the bend,

Santa checked out his reindeer and the gifts he'd send.

He tested the harness, the sleigh and the sack.

But where were the lists? He'd have to go back.

He searched through his pockets, long'johns and hat,

The panic was rising, where could it be at?

Then all of a sudden came a furious chewing,

What were those idiot herbivores doing?

With fear he ran to the head of the pack,

As Rudolph emitted an unsavory "Ack!"

"He's eaten my list!" Santa cried with distress,

"If I screw up my route, I'll get nail'd by the press."

'Cross the snow Santa ran to his desk full of paper,

Warmed up his pc and then lit a taper.

He sat at his Mac, disk drive awhirring,

And except for his Mouse, not a creature was stirring.

With a delicate touch he began to compose,

Taking great care not to be too verbose.

"Where to begin," mused the old Crimson elf,

"I must find a way to distribute the pelf."

For Oliver North by Mid-East Express,

A fifth of something to help with the press.

For big boss Ronnie some porcelain pots,

With the one bloom he needs: forget-me-nots.

A special gown for First Lady Nancy

Worth a few thou--nothing too fancy.

A urine cup for A.G. Ed Meese,

A useful container for moral release.

To Bill Bennett, a man who bangs his own gong,

His favorite fetish: an undergrad's bong.

For hip Joe Kennedy, the man with the Name,

Some brains to keep him from acting so lame.

To save the High Court, we give a heart

To Judge W. Rehnquist, that conservative old...guy.

"Courage" should be more than an anchorman's blather,

We'll supply a new sign-off to newsman Dan Rather.

To the seniors in Wigg, a new home in Mass Hall,

Jewett & Co. get the Chestnut Hill Mall.

For Brinkley, Lee and Watson, for daring to teach,

We'll force Derek Bok to give tenure to each.

Also for Derek on this Christmasy Day,

We'll give a "Comment"--he needs something to say.

To Henry Rosovsky, who'll soon mind the store,

A shiny new apple--but don't save the Core.

To College officials, in search of new toys,

A CRR stand-in for bad girls and boys.

We'll make Dan Steiner a Soweto intern,

Perhaps in South Africa he'll finally learn.

To Mr. Spence, son of the invisible man,

A touch of color--from a spray paint can.

Archie C. Epps gets his ultimate choice,

A royal title to go with his voice.

To the richest alumni, from old Saint Kris,

A black-tie dinner for the one that they missed.

To the 350th crew, snobs one and all,

Champagne and caviar to go with their gall.

To Sam Huntington for his bad use of math,

QRA for a term to fend off Lang's wrath

For his sensitive ramblings on the Women's Field,

"Our Bodies, Ourselves" to misogynous Mansfield.

For the Poonie yucksters with minds of clay,

Lifetime jobs at USA Today.

To the Signet and their kin we kindly bestow,

The talented students they always forego.

To the Hasty Pudding, a year of free rent,

Oh wait! that gift was already sent.

The Undergraduate Council, those political flubs,

Gets free membership in the final clubs.

To David Letterman, the Late Night King,

A new bandleader who can actually sing.

To Bill Cosby, well-loved for his show,

The one thing he lacks: a smaller ego.

To Leonard Nimoy, a special pet rock,

Inscribed with the words, "I am not Spock."

For Ivan Boesky, the credit he deserves,

For giving Wall Street a case of the nerves.

For the dear ole Red Sox, we'd buy out the marts,

But there's nothing much left, they've taken our hearts.

For Hendu, our thanks and an earful of cheers,

For Stanley and Buckner, we have only tears.

The fierce Crimson and Elis held their annual tilt;

We met them, sank them, they did nothing but wilt.

For dear old Yale, 'twas a terrible cave-in.

They faltered, fell, we give them New Haven.

For Liz Woodley, who'll miss dear Brent Martin,

A brand new valet to handle the parkin'.

For Brian M. Byrne, free time and green ink,

(But don't leave the sawbucks drying in the sink).

For Patrick R. Sorrento, our guardian of pages,

A case of cigars to last through the ages.

As Santa waited for the printout to come,

He pondered the list--juicy gifts went to some.

Others, of course, got the coals they deserved,

A fine, fine tradition once more was preserved.

Back to the flight pad, papers in hand,

And as he took off from the white frozen land,

Santa extended his good Christmas cheers,

To Harvard and world for fifty more years.