Aviation style


'Twas the night before Christmas, and out on the ramp,
Not an airplane was stirring, not even a Champ.

The aircraft were fastened to tie downs with care,
In hopes that come morning, they all would be there.

The fuel trucks were nestled, all snug in their spots,
With gusts from two-forty at 39 knots.

I slumped at the fuel desk, now finally caught up,
And settled down comfortably, resting my butt.

When the radio lit up with noise and with chatter,
I turned up the scanner to see what was the matter.

A voice clearly heard over static and snow,
Called for clearance to land at the airport below.

He barked his transmission so lively and quick,
I'd have sworn that the call sign he used was "St. Nick".

I ran to the panel to turn up the lights,
The better to welcome this magical flight.

He called his position, no room for denial,
"St. Nicholas One, turnin' left onto final."

And what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Rutan-built sleigh, with eight Rotax Reindeer!

With vectors to final, down the glideslope he came,
As he passed all fixes, he called them by name:
"Now Ringo! Now Tolga! Now Trini and Bacun!

On Comet! On Cupid!" What pills was he takin'?
While controllers were sittin', and scratchin' their head,
They phoned to my office, and I heard it with dread,
The message they left was both urgent and dour:
"When Santa pulls in, have him please call the tower."

He landed like silk, with the sled runners sparking,
Then I heard "Left at Charlie," and "Taxi to parking."

He slowed to a taxi, turned off of three-oh
And stopped on the ramp with a "Ho, ho-ho-ho..."
He stepped out of the sleigh, but before he could talk,
I ran out to meet him with my best set of chocks.

His red helmet and goggles were covered with frost
And his beard was all blackened from Reindeer exhaust.

His breath smelled like peppermint, gone slightly stale,
And he puffed on a pipe, but he didn't inhale.

His cheeks were all rosy and jiggled like jelly,
His boots were as black as a cropduster's belly.

He was chubby and plump, in his suit of bright red,
And he asked me to "fill it, with hundred low-lead."

He came dashing in from the snow-covered pump,
I knew he was anxious for drainin' the sump.

I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,
And I filled up the sleigh, but I spilled like a jerk.

He came out of the restroom, and sighed in relief,
Then he picked up a phone for a Flight Service brief.

And I thought as he silently scribed in his log,
These reindeer could land in an eighth-mile fog.

He completed his pre-flight, from the front to the rear,
Then he put on his headset, and I heard him yell, "Clear!"

And laying a finger on his push-to-talk,
He called up the tower for clearance and squawk.

"Take taxiway Charlie, the southbound direction,
Turn right three-two-zero at pilot's discretion"
He sped down the runway, the best of the best,
"Your traffic's a Grumman, inbound from the west."

Then I heard him proclaim, as he climbed thru the night,
"Merry Christmas to all! I have traffic in sight."

Christmas Eve in the Workhouse

"It was Christmas Eve in the workhouse
The beadle was pissed as a newt,
The cold froze the porridge right over
And affected brass monkeys to boot.
The paupers looked forward to Christmas
As a time of indulgence and fun,

They got cocoa instead of cold water
A cracker, double porridge and buns.
The dinner was really the favourite
The thing they looked forward to best,
Featuring bulk issue reconstitute chicken
Which weren't poorly but just looked depressed.

They could sing if they did it quietly
They could eat until they nearly felt full
They could kneel and pray extra long praises
Give thanks and other such bull.
So excitement were rising each minute

As Christmas came nearer their way
But just seconds before it struck midnight
A terrible voice said "Nay!"
"What #%&*$# has pissed in me clog!"
(Twas the beadle who shouted in rage)
"For this no-one eats Christmas dinner
And I'll put you each back in your cage."

For he was a sensitive person
Who liked a laugh with the lads
But he got the hump at pissing in footwear
He'd borrowed that day off his dad.
"You'll have nowt but stale bread and water"
Said he "Till the culprit owns up"

But no-one said they had done it
So the beadle locked them all up.
They spent the whole day bewailing
That their dinner had gone to the dog
And they cursed in despair that awful day
Someone pissed in the beadle's clog.

But here comes that part of the story
The moral and pointed bit
That makes you see God's got a plan
So you laugh and don't give a #%&*$#:
The chicken was packed in Argentina
A friendly South American place

And was teeming and creeping with typhoid
That came from the old River Plate.
And so in the other workhouses
The paupers were dropping like flies
But as to this one it was only
The usual high average died.

And the paupers danced and sang praises
That they'd only had water and bread
Which doubled as a wake for the beadle who'd
Ate chicken and now was well dead.
So the moral we see quite clearly:
This is: God loves the poor,

And if you've only got bread and water
Why! he loves you ten times more.
So leave it all to your masters
It's all for the best in the end
Don't shout and be stubborn and nasty,
If the boss says bend, YOU BEND!
And the paupers have got a new beadle
Who never gets piss in his clog
Cos the typhoid that did for the old one
Also slayed his incontinent dog."

"The aircraft were fastened to tie downs with care,
In hopes that come morning, they all would be there."


"And his beard was all blackened from Reindeer exhaust."





"Someone pissed in the beadle's clog ........

And the paupers have got a new beadle
Who never gets piss in his clog
Cos the typhoid that did for the old one
Also slayed his incontinent dog."



that's some of the finest literary works I've seen in a long time

T'was the Night Before Christmas-Submarine Style

T'was the night before Christmas, and what no-one could see,
The men with the dolphins were under the sea.
Most of the crew was flat on their backs,
Snoring and dreaming all snug in their racks.

Those men on watch were making their rounds,
Some manning the planes or listening for sounds.
Back in maneuvering or down in the room,
They all hoped the oncoming watch would come soon.

I'd finished some PM's whose time was now due,
And hoped for some sleep, even an hour or two.
Against better judgment I took a short stroll,
And found myself wandering into control.

The Nav had the Conn, the COW was in place,
The COB had the Dive and a scowl on his face.
The helm and the planes were relaxed but aware,
The QM and ET were discussing a dare.

To comply with the orders the Nav told the Dive,
To bring the boat up with minimum rise.
The orders were given and soon they were there,
At periscope depth with a scope in the air.

The QM confirmed our position with care,
The broadcast was copied, we brought in some air.
The Nav on the scope let out a small cry,
He shook his head twice and rubbed at his eyes.

He looked once again to find what it was,
That interrupted his sweep and caused him to pause.
Try as he might there was nothing to see,
So down went the scope and us to the deep.

I asked what it was that caused his dismay,
He sheepishly said, "I'm embarrassed to say."
It could have been Northern Lights or a cloud,
Or a meteorite he wondered aloud.

But to tell you the truth I guess I must say,
Whatever it was it looked like a sleigh.
And though it passed quickly and never was clear,
I almost believe it was pulled by reindeer.

We laughed and teased him and I got up to go,
When our moment was broken by "Conn, Radio."
They told us a message was just coming in,
We looked at the depth gauge and started to grin.

"Radio, Conn, I feel safe to say,
Your attempt at a joke is too long delayed.
If it had been sooner it might have been neat,
But I doubt we're receiving at four-hundred feet."

"Conn, Radio, you can come down and see,
We're not playing games to any degree."
I headed aft with nothing better to do,
Surprised by the fact it was still coming through.

It stopped and was sent to control to be read,
The Nav read it slowly and scratched at his head.
Then again he began but this time aloud,
To those that now waited, a curious crowd.

"To you Denizens of the Deep and men of the sea,
Who risk your life daily so others stay free.
I rarely have seen you on this, my big night,
For far too often you are hidden from sight.

But purely by luck I saw you tonight,
As your scope coaxed the plankton to glow in the night.
And lucky for me I've finally won,
The chance to say thanks for all you have done.

I know that you miss your families at home,
And sometimes you feel as if you're alone.
But trust what I say and I'll do what's right,
I'll take something special to your families tonight.
Along with the gifts I'll take to your kin,
I'll visit their dreams and leave word within.
They'll hear of your love, and how you miss them,
I'll tell them that soon you'll be home again.

It might not be much I know that is true,
To thank you for all the things that you do.
But I'll do what I can, while you do what's right,
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight."