'Twas the Night Before Christmas – in the Laboratology
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the laboratory
Not an experiment was stirring, not even the gas chromatography;
The labcoats were hung by the door with great care,
In hope whomever’s turn it was to wash them soon would be there;
The students were nestled all snug asleep at their desks,
While visions of well-funded projects danced in their heads;
And the lab tech in his flame-scorched coat, and the researcher in her Star-Trek cap,
Had just settled down in their offices for one of many a winter's nap,
When out in the car park there arose such a clatter,
The researcher sprang from her chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the window she flew like a flash,
Tore open the laser safety screen, and threw up the sash.
Street lights shone on the new-fallen snow
Gave an orange twilight to objects below,
When, what to the researcher's eyes should appear,
But a red Mini, its dash covered with eight bottled beers,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
She knew in a moment it must be Prof. Nick.
More rapid than eagles, him with his beers came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, DOUBLE DROP! Now, SUNDANCE! Now, MEAD and GUINNESS!
On, RUBY STAR! On LIONHEART! On, HAMMERHEAD ALE and INNIS!
To the top of my lips! To the top of the wall!
Now down away! Down away! Down away all!"
As light powder measured in static might fly,
When the car met a bollard, it mounted to the sky,
So up to the lab-roof the red mini it flew,
The car filled with empties, and Prof. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, she heard on the roof
The cracking and breaking of each bottle of high proof.
As she drew in her hand, and was turning around,
Down the fume hood Prof. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in tweed, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with Virkon and chemical throughput;
A carrier bag of bottles he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a vagabond after downing a six-pack.
His glazed eyes – how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His hair was wild, thrown like a hedgerow,
And the beard of his chin was white, stained with Bordeaux;
The stump of a cigar he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a great round belly,
That shook, when he bellowed like a plate of electrophoresis jelly.
He was chubby and plump, with an expression so grim,
And the researcher stifled a laugh when she saw him;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave her to know she had nothing to dread;
To the researcher he spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Marking papers on desks with red ink; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the fume hood he rose;
He sprang to his Mini, with at least one false start
And off he drove like a poorly aimed dart,
But the researcher heard him exclaim, ere he sped off the roof out of sight
HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-ARRRRGHHH
By Matthew Partridge (with help from Clement Clarke Moore)
