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‘Twas the night before Cuz-mas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a Merc;

The stockings were hung by the television with care,

In hopes that Andrea Bargnani soon would be there;

Katie was nestled all snug in her bed,

While visions of maynards danced in her head;

And Bosco in his chair, and I in my cap,

Had just settled down for a long couch nap,

When out on the street there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Knocked open the blinds and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the lustre of mid-day to curbside garbage below,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a four door mini-van, hanging over the driveway by rear.

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