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A Bill Gates Christmas

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'Twas evening, when Christmas had enveloped the house
And the whole household was fighting for control of the mouse;
The phone receiver was being attended with care
In hopes that tech support would soon be there;
The children still hadn't been sent off to bed
Because they knew what to do when the PC was dead;
Mamma wept in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
As we'd laid out two grand for a large pile of crap
Then a loud noise outside parted me and computer,
So I sprang from the study to shoot the intruder.
Away to the front hall went me and my son,
He to the window and I to my gun;
The rays from the monitor on the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of radioactivity to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a big flash red sports car, and a six-pack of beer
With a little geek driver, so alert yet so still,
I knew in a moment it could only be Bill.
More rapid than slugs his software it came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Windows! Now, Office! Now, Excel and Encarta!
On, Front Page! On Explorer! On, VB and BASIC!
To the bay of the drive! To the PC's hard disk!
Now slow it down! Slow it down! Slow it down quick!"
Like a geek who oft on the Internet surfs,
He crashed in the garden and threw up some turf;
Up to the house-top the sports car it flew,
With seats full of software, and William too.
And then, in a twinkling, I pricked my ears higher
To hear the screeching and scratching of each little tyre.
As I drew out my gun, and was turning around,
Down the chimney William came with a bound.
His clothes were from Wal-Mart, from his head to his toe,
And as he stood he was swaying, from to to fro.
A bundle of software he had flung on his back,
And from my end of the room you could see it was cack.
His glasses - how dirty! His expression - how scary!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
Then my whole family were picked up and kissed,
And it was then that I knew he was incredibly pissed.
The stump of a finger he held in his teeth,
And the blood it encircled his head like a wreath;
You could tell from now onwards that he'd utter no sobs,
For you clearly could see he had murdered Steve Jobs.
He was gawky and thin, a psychotic old nerd,
But still I told him that his software was turd,
A click of a lever and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I would soon be dead;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And killed all my children; man, he was a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his mouse,
He flew up the chimney, like a magical louse;
He sprang to his car, and gave a shrill whistle,
And off went the sports car like a cruise missile.
I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Don't dis my software if you don't wanna fight."