It wouldn't be Christmas eve without a famous poem being read. Since this of course is second life, one of my readers decided to get creative and sent us this alternative (omg) version of the xmas favourite. He also requested his identity be kept hidden.

Before you read on, all of us here at slinworldtoday.com would like to wish everyone who has given us much support and laughed with us over this last year, a very merry Xmas and happy holidays.

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Ammon soon would be there;The readers were nestled all snug in their beds,While visions of Ida danced in their heads;And Rawly in his 'kerchief, and Nat in her cap,Had just settled down for a long winter's nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.Away to the window I flew like a flash,Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,But a tawdry magazine, and eight alts causing fear,With a little old driver, so stylish and glam,I knew in a moment it must be St. Amm.

More rapid than eagles the anon commenter's came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called his staff by name;"Now, Jason! now, Kiam! now, Alexis and Dem! On, Jade! on Edna! on, Zak and Daegmon'!To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!Now rip off! Rip off! Rip off all!"As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,So up to the house-top the editors they flew,With the sleigh full of alts, and St. Ammon too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,Down the chimney St. Ammon came with a bound.He was dressed all in Redgrave, from his head to his foot,And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;A bundle of mags he had flung on his back,And he looked like an escort just opening her crack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how evil!His cheeks had bad rashes, his nose like a weasel!His droll little mouth was drawn up like a scowl,And the beard of his chin had been removed by a trowel;The stump of a centrefold he held tight in his teeth,And the prize it encircled his head like a wreath;He had a narrow face and a bland looking skin,With hair looking so cheap, it belonged in a bin.He was arrogant and rude, a nasty old queen,And I screamed when I saw him, for what I had seen;A wink of his eye and a twist of his hud,Soon gave me to know I'd be banned from this club;He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,And IM'd the club manager; then turned like a jerk.
Advertise in my mag, he demanded that night. Don't heed the lies that we've breached copyright! And placing his finger inside of his nose, And giving a nod, to the TP he rose; He sprang to his sleigh, to his alts who were teeming And away they all flew like harpies a'screaming.
But I heard him exclaim, his mouth full of shite,"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."