The Christmas season is meant to be a special time of serenity and contemplation. In the age of instant communication, how we wish that were still true.
The Christmas season is meant to be a special time of serenity and contemplation. In the age of instant communication, how we wish that were still true.
Sadly, herewith are the new lyrics of the age:
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While shepherds tweeted a lot by night
All chillin’ on the ground
The message from the cloud came down
On iPhones there around
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Good King Wenceslas texted out
To his old friend Stephen
Storm Tracker News predicted thereabout
Precipitation deep and crisp and even
Brightly shone their screens that night
Though the service was cruel
When a poor dude came in sight
On a snow day from school
Hither, dude, and stand by me
With your smartphone beeping
Yonder dudette, who is she?
Where’s her email keeping?
King, she lives a good ways hence
Tweeting up the mountain
Right against the parking lot fence
Near the mall fountain
Bring me burgers, and make ‘em fine
Let us not further dither
Thou and I will see her fine
When we message her hither
Dude and monarch, forth they went
Messaging forth together
Though rude comments they sent
Not all of ‘em on the weather
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Hashtagging through the snow
On a one bar open phone
Over the ether we go
Taking selfies all the way (Lol, lol, lol!)
Bells on Bob’s apps ring
Making messages bright
What fun it is to text and ring
A tweeting song tonight
Verizon bills, Verizon bills
Verizon all the way!
Oh what fun it is to text and ride
In a two-thumb escapade, hey!
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On the first day of Christmas
My true love texted me
U want a partridge in a pear tree?
On the second day of Christmas
My true love tweeted me
OK, two turtle doves and
A partridge in a pear tree
On the third day of Christmas
My true love messaged me
Like, three french hens
Two turtle doves and
A partridge in a pear tree
On the fourth day of Christmas
My true love Instagrammed me
Four calling birds
Three french hens
Two turtle doves and
A partridge in a pear tree
On the fifth day of Christmas
My true love’s battery failed
Whatever
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As used to be said in the olden days when curmudgeons like myself wrote on paper with quill pens plucked from a goose, to the irritation of the fowl, Happy Christmas to all and to all a good-night.