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Welcome, a Digital Oasis awaits.

Take your Time, There isn't any Rush.

Free Minds, Free Markets, and Liberated Religion.

Reason
Faith
Common Sense

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T'was the night before Christmas, and throughout the second city,
Even the liquor store was closed, which is really quite a pity.
The dirty socks were hung on the edge of the cardboard box,
Hoping that the key would soon be mine to the sewer locks.
The hobos were nestled all snug on their street,
Thinking the bald guy at the City Hall Break Room must be a cheat.
And my hobo wife in her kerchief, and I in my cap,
Pondering about tomorrow’s trip to City Hall and which window I should tap.
When out in the park there arose such a clatter,
I sprang to my feet to see what was the matter.
Out of my box, I flew like a flash,
Tore open the flaps after hiding my cash.
I yelled to my hobo wife to come out and take a look,
But she replied by grunting and I saw it was her middle finger she shook.
When what to my wondering eyes should I see,
But a platinum shopping cart maxed out…golly!
With a little old driver so lively and with cause,
I knew in a moment it must be Santa Claus.
More rapid than eagles, his North Pole rats they came,
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name.
"Now Trasher! Now Cancer! Now Stancer and Ticksen!
On Vomit! On Stupid! On Goner and Bitsen!
To the edge of the docks, to the top of the Red Light District wall,
Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!"
As beer cans that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with a shopping cart high in the sky.
So up to the cardboard boxes the rats they flew,
With a shopping cart full of 900 sets and Santa too.
And then in annoyance I heard by the night club,
The tapping and pawing of each rats’ little stubs.
And as I raised my head and was turning around,
Down the ally Santa Claus came with a bound.
He was dressed in a high-tech tuxedo from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with grime and soot.
His fat, round face was surrounded by a rash,
And the hair on his head was as filthy as trash.
The stump of a pipe, he held in his teeth,
And the smoke encircled his head, like a wreath.
The bundle of 900 sets he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes sunk into his head, his appearance quite scary.
His ears extremely dirty, his nose rather hairy.
He had a broad face, and a round, protruding belly,
That shook when he walked, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was not showered or shaven, and in horrendous health,
And I plugged my nose as he neared me, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head,
Soon let me to know, I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the dirty socks, then turned with a jerk.
And putting his finger inside of his nose,
And producing an oddity that made me crinkle my toes.
He stumbled to his shopping cart, to his team gave a whistle,
And away he drunkenly scuffled, like a misguided missile.