Date:         Fri, 02 Dec 94 09:56:20 CST
Sender:       Vanagon Mailing List <vanagon@vanagon.com>
From:         Joel Walker <JWALKER@ua1vm.ua.edu>
Subject:      Friday: the sixth day of the week.


                          The Night Before Christmas

T'was the night before Christmas, and all round the house,
     Not a VeeDub was running, I felt like a louse

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care
     in hopes that St. Wolfsburg soon would be there

The children were nestled all snug in their beds
     while visions of Campers danced in their wee heads

And Mama in her flannel and I in mine, too,
     thought a cross-county bus tour was a neat thing to do

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter
     like sounds of a bad clutch; you know how they chatter

Away to the window I flew like a flash
     i loosened the locks and threw open the sash

And what to my wondering eyes did appear?
     But a Volkswagen bus, of the earlier years

With a little old driver so pudgy and round
     that i knew in a moment St. Wolfsburg I'd found

And pulling the Bus, through the snow and the cold,
     was an octet of Beetles, so proud and so bold

More rapid than turtles, they strained as they came
     as he yelled and he screamed and he called them by name

Now Sunroof, now Oval, now Super, and Sunbug
     On Verti, on Kuebel, on Karmann, and Goldbug

To the top of the carport, to the top of the wall
     drive away, drive away, drive away all

So up to the rooftop this convoy then flew
     The Bus full of car parts and the Beetles were, too

As I drew in my head and was turning around
     from the chimney St. Wolfsburg came out with a bound

He was dressed as mechanics, from his head to his foot
     and he reeked of old motor oil and ashes and soot

A huge bunch of car parts he had stuffed in his sack
     marked VeeDub and Bosch - I was taken aback

His face was all wrinkled, his eyes so dejected
     like he'd been told his repairs were more than expected

His feet were all covered with oil, which was dripping
     all over my carpet where he had been tripping

He was rotund and jolly, a competent mech,
     but my room now was filthy, a horrible wreck

He spoke not a word but went straight to his work,
     with his butt-crack all showing, like some plumber, the jerk!

Then putting his finger aside of his nose
     with a wink and a nod, up the chimney he rose

He sprang to his Bus, fixed his seatbelt, and farted
     Then hit the ignition, and up they all started

But I heard him exclaim ere he drove round the side
     Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good ride!

apologies to Mr. Moore (original author)
and Jim Finn (who adapted it for British Cars, 1992)
<and from whom i shamelessly stole the idea :) >