The Paranormal Night Before Christmas
- Saturday, December 19 2009 @ 06:41 am UTC
- Contributed by: tomcat
- Views: 876
I humbly submit my version of this classic poem and also bid all of you the Merriest of Christmas holidays! -- Jon at GRI...'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the haunted house
Not a friggen ghost was stirring, not even a dead mouse;
The evp recorders were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that the Ghost Hunters would catch spirits hanging out there;
The TAPS Hunters were nestled all snug in investigative dread,
While visions of pegged EMFs danced in their heads;
So Grant in his breaker and Jason with his hat,
Had just settled down for a long investigation nap (in the van of course),
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
The whole team sprang from the head to see what was the matter.
Away to the window they flew with digital flashes,
Tore open the shutters and saw someone's haunted ashes!
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of infrared to the objects below,
When, what to their wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature UFO with eight tiny... what the frig? Space Deer?,
With a little friggen driver, so lively and quick,
Jason smiled and knew in a moment it must be St Freaking Alien-Nick.
More rapid than F-15 eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Steve! now, Tango! now, Kris! (shes a Vixen)!
On, Amy! on Jen! on Dustin, and Krysten!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now scan away! scan away! scan away all!"
As cool temperatures that before the wild paranormal fly,
When TAPS meets an obstacle, they climb over, through or mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the space-deer they flew,
With the sleigh full of ghost hunting-gear, and Alien St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, we heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each alien hoof.
The FLIR Grant drew from its holster with speed and was a-turning around,
When down the chimney the X-Files St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in seriously cool Italian fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with anti-matter, ashes and alien soot;
A bundle of ghost-hunting gear he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a paranormal vendor just opening his pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples like freaking... Merry?
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like ugh... It was scary!
His troll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the stubble of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a really big pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round friggen belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowl full of grape-jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly alien-elf,
And the entire team laughed when they saw him, in spite of themselves;
A wink of his eye and a twist what we thought was his head,
Soon gave the team to know... Man! We Scored! We had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled each team member's stocking; then turned with a jerk,
Hitting #511 on his I-Phone and then laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his seriously cool ride, and to his team gave a whistle,
Hit the gas and away they all flew like a freaking Minuteman Missile.
We all heard him exclaim, ere he blasted out of sight,
"Happy Friggen Christmas to you all, and to all I bid a good hunt tonight!
