Twas the Night Before Elections: An Ode to Dopers
Twas the night before elections, when all through the boards
All posters were stirring, all of the hoards.
Arguments, discussions and debates were there,
Fallacies of all kinds being laid bare.
The posters were all filled with much dread,
While visions of their party losing danced in their heads.
And **Shodan ** in his corner drinking a nightcap,
Had just settled himself for a long fall spat.
When in the Pit there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from MPSIMS to see what was the matter.
Away to the Pit I flew like a flash,
Opened the forum and then gave out a gasp.
The hellish light that appeared below
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects a-glow.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature fight, and something I fear.
Someone sarcastic, funny, and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Urban Chic.
More rapid than eagles her comments they came,
As she whistled, and shouted, and called Dopers by name!
“Now Bricker! now, Rune! now, **Priceguy ** and Vixen!
On, faithfool! On, Rickjay! **Miller ** and **Otto ** are fixin’
To fight to the death! to settle once and for all
Who will rise and who will fall!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So at each other’s throats the Dopers they flew,
With their mouths full of curses, and bad language too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard in Great Debates
The calm conversation of all the greats
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Into the thread **Cecil ** came with a bound.
He was dressed all in gold, from his head to his foot,
And his eyes were wise and saw all that was afoot.
A bundle of diplomas he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a scholar, just opening his pack.
His eyes-how they narrowed! As he pondered our query
His eyebrows shot up as he became wary!
He tapped his finger on his nose, he was in the know,
And if he had to, proof he would show.
He spoke, ”To **Ed Zotti ** I do all bequeath,
May knowledge encircle his head like a wreath.
Just let it be known, let it be shown,
Confusing me with **Ed ** makes me groan!
He is chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
I am handsome, from my toes to my head,
And you only have my sarcasm to dread.”
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And answered all the questions, then turned with a jerk.
And speaking in eloquent prose,
He gave a nod, and out of sight he rose!
He sprang to his Buick, to **Ed ** he gave a whistle,
And away he flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“Stop arguing you all – I’m always right!”
With many, many apologies to Mr. Clement Clarke Moore.
