Our stockings were hung by the chimney with care in the hopes that a laundry day soon would be there. With me using Windows and G on the Mac, the household was open to plenty a hack. When what to my wondering eyes should appear than one scary lookin' fat dude in a red jumper suit that was three sizes too small for his body. Yep. Another friggin' system administrator who got lost on his way home from a LAN party. Anyway… where was I? And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof the prancing and pawing of each little goof. As I drew in my hand to dial 9-1-1, down the chimney this lardass came with a bound. His lights – how they twinkled! His drive bay – how merry! His case was exquisite, much like Halle Berry. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth would get him kicked out of the state of California because we don't tolerate that kind of crap around here. So chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, and I laughed when I looked – damn near wetting myself. His sack was exploding with presents inside as he readied to drop them sans seasonal pride. With a wink of his eye and a twist of his head he did the Lambada with Sprocket instead. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, and filled all our stockings – the real ones, you jerk. And laying his finger aside of his nose, he slipped and went up his left nostril, yo-ho. But I heard him belt out, ere he drove out of sight: 'Gnomie Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.'