The Crimson's Holiday Gift List

EVERY YEAR at this time, as vacation grows near

The Crimson dispenses its gifts of good cheer.

We hope you won't hate them, but in case you do,

We just built a building. We're broke. Please don't sue.

To President Neil, a slew of new deans,

Not to mention his provost--whatever that means.

But things around here are too peaceful, too quiet.

We'll ask Derrick Bell to give Rudy a riot.

To Derek C. Bok, who has little to do,

Tetris seems proper, and Nintendo, too.

And if Derek decides that these pastimes are duds.

We'll book our old Prez an appearance on Studs.

To manic Dean Knowles, who firsts with psychosis,

Some Valium, quick! In very large doses!

To the Dersh, we wish oodles of media hype.

(Which we're sure he'll turn down, cause he's just not that type.)

To Harvard"s Stealth Dean, Ms. Hernandez-Gravelle:

Some name recognition--charisma as well.

To "No Comment" Schlicter, a functional voice.

To Dean L. Fred Jewett, non-non-ordered choice.

To Joseph S. Nye, whose lectures are sterling,

We give longer pants and a date with Sy Sperling.

The same gifts for Marty, the god of Ec 10,

He'll also fit in with the Hair Club for Men.

To the Mealtime Messiah, our god of gastronomy

A job resurrecting our nation's economy.

(If someone can do it, Mike Berry's the dude.

He'd fine-tune the Fed like he fine-tuned our food.)

To the gays on this campus (though we hate to get sappy)

A plea to ignore those who say you're not happy.

Penninsula's love experts like to play Cupid.

They're not hyperhateful. They're just hyperstupid.

To the B-School, that bastion of greed' cross the river,

We've picked out a Scud which we'll gladly deliver.

Our gladness would promptly be moved up to glee

If shrapnel destroyed the Fly, Fox, Porc and Spee.

To the UC, that stalwart of brilliance and prudence,

We wish for a meeting with more than six students.

To the Lampy, that herd of hilarious sops.

We'll give out some pointers on how to stab cops.

To the IOP, which wants to invite David Duke,

We offer a few dozen buckets of puke.

These people want Hillel to sponsor this Nazi?

Next time, stick to issues like health care and ROTC.

To President Bush, an angry reminder

That our country is now neither gentler nor kinder.

For Danny, we didn't quite know what to get.

Lincoln Logs? Tinkertoys? An erector set?

To dear John Sununu, our heartiest laugh.

Whunu what henu about Bush's staff?

While the nation was crumbling, this grouchy old hawk

Flew Lear jets, took limos--well, now he can walk.

To Cuomo, that gubernatorial bust,

Some metal inscribed with an In God We Trust

To flip, should he find himself thusly inclined.

It would be rather nice if he'd make up his mind.

To Clinton, a condom; To Harkin, a brew.

To Tsongas, a tstump tspeech; To Moonbeam, a clue.

To all of these turkeys, a break from their trances.

'Til hell freezes over, They Just Don't Have Chances.

THERE ARE SOME who we've missed in our gift-giving spree:

Mike Milken, John Silber, Dean Epps and The Bee;

Magic, Madonna and Judge "Long Dong" Thomas

Gorby, Bill Weld, Tricky Dick, Nostradamus.

That's fine, but our duties as impudent elves

Would be incomplete without roasting ourselves.

To The Crime, we give Wite-Out for when we're mistaken.

And a new name--The Rag--but we hear that it's taken.

To Patrick, our favorite shop-ruling guy,

A hearty rendition of "Smoke Gets in Your Eye."

To Brian and Kenny, whom few of us see,

A two-week vacation--at last, they'll be free.

To Liz, whom we know for her bottomless purse,

A thank you for all the times we're reimbursed.

And to the next guard, hope you're ready to go.

We're sure ready to quit--ho ho ho ho ho ho.

To everyone else who's still reading this poem

We offer advice: Put it down! Go on home!

Be mirthful! Be joyfull Be far, far from here!

Get the heck out of Cambridge! We'll see you next year!