"A Visit From St Phredd"

(With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore =)

'Twas the night before Gapping, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The gas tanks were filled with high octane with care,
In hopes that their turbos would not ping while there;

The drivers were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of twisty roads danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long pre-drive nap,

When out on the street 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 paint jobs below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should befall,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight Miatae in all,

With a little old driver, so lively he sped,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Phredd.
More rapid than big blocks his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Sunkist! Now, Scarlett! Now, Mr Redd and K.Bee!
On, Spike! On, Indi-go! On, CATTOY and Baby!
To the top of the hill! Just in front of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the driveway the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St Phrederick too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard like a cry
The prancing and pawing of each little tire.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
>From the garage St Phrederick came with a bound.

He was dressed all in Nomex, from his head to his feet,
And his clothes were all tarnished with oilstains and grease;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
As though he had just arrived from the Home Depot;

The bottle of wax he held tight in his hand,
Of aluminum polish he opened a can;
He had a large bag of terrycloth towels,
For the worst of those cars which had become foul.

I'd hoped he could finish his task by the morn,
That from other Gappers I'd not receive scorn;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And polished and buffed; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, the garage door it rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, as I crawled into bed,
"Happy driving to all, God's Miata is Redd!"

God's Miata is red! =D

-- Sean... Team Voodoo!


05 December, 2000