A VISIT FROM ST. NICK-OVETCH with profound apologies to Clement C. Moore
Twas the night before Christmas, all through the H.Q.,
The agents were restless for something to do.
THRUSH agents laid low through the whole snowy season,
Once Santa declared all their evil "Displeasin' "
N. Solo slumped, sullen, across empty files,
He daydreamed of champagne and slow, sizzling smiles.
His partner had drawn a more dangerous Affair:
To fill the Chief's stocking with holiday flair.
The UNCLE employees had pooled all their cash,
It was Illya's turn for the mad shopping dash.
Away to the mall trudged our Communist Kringle.
With decadent, desperate consumers to mingle.
The aisles all were crammed with the maddening crowd,
And "Jingle Bell Rock" played exceedingly loud.
# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #
Then out in the hall Solo heard so much chatter,
He sprang from his desk to see what was the matter.
Then what to his wondering eye should appear,
But an aging sedan with a thrice-crumpled rear.
With a slender young driver so lively and quick,
He knew in an moment it must be St. Nick.
He had long blond hair, and his eyes, blue as ice,
Led ladies to dream: was he naughty or nice?
He was dressed all in black, from his feet to his head,
And the language he spoke, undeniably Red.
He was grinchy and glum, just his old scroogey self;
Solo laughed when he saw him, in spite of himself.
A glare from his eyes, and a shrug of his shoulder,
Soon let Solo know that the mission was over:
New slippers, new pipe, for the cogent old Fellow,
Fresh mistletoe leaves, and a "Torture-Me-Elmo."
The crumpled receipts in his fist he clutched tight,
Nursed bruises and scratches from K-Mart's Blue Light.
But fresh frosted cookies, warm milk in a mug,
Rewarded the warrior, with holiday hugs.
Solo heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight:
"Do your own paperwork! I'm off-duty tonight..."
finis