‘Twas the night before Christmas, and in the OcUK house
Not a fan was whirring, not even a gaming mouse;
The stockings were hung from powerhouse PCs with care,
In hopes that St. Packolas soon would be there;
The gamers were nestled all snug in their noblechairs;
Dreaming of loot drops that were at least legendary rares;
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap,
When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my gaming chair 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 a lustre of midday to objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a hench overclocked sleigh and eight rein-deer,
With a swole and youthful driver so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he must be St. Pack.
More rapid than overclocked processors, his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the housetop the coursers they flew
With a sleigh full of hardware, and St. Packolas too—
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I took off my headset, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Packolas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from side to side,
And his clothes were all tight around his arms so wide;
A bundle of hardware he had flung on his back,
Pulling our RGB-free gifts from the depths of his sack.
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,
And the stubble on his chin was not quite as white as the snow;
A tube of thermal paste he held tight in his teeth,
And spare cables encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a rock-hard belly
Though that did not mean he’d say no to a bowl full of jelly.
He was sculpted yet soft, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
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 filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he 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, ere he drove out of sight—
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
- 3 min read
Jacob Smith
Author
Jacob is a passionate gamer, plus a noted Pokemon and LEGO nutjob, who emerges only when doing the words here at Overclockers UK. Since starting at the tail end of 2021, Jacob has gone on to write dozens of blogs on everything from the latest games to whimsical Dickens-inspired poetry. Outside of creating content and being the one person in the office daring to champion Nintendo, he is often found fawning over his Pokemon card collection and his trio of lovely doggos.
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