Inspired by Clement C. Moore's 1822 poem, "A Visit From St. Nicholas" (also called "Twas the Night Before Christmas")
A [JDMphasized] Visit from St. Nicholas
Twas the night before Christmas, when out on the road,
Not a vehicle whirring, it had not even snowed.
My harness snug over my breastbone prepared,
In the hopes that my cautiousness would not soon be dared.
The tires were sticky, all with full tread,
While visions of canyons romanced in my head.
No drama was certain, no need for a map,
The goal was simple: to get nowhere; ASAP.
When from the rear bumper there arose such a howl,
I smirked when I heard it. That exhaust really growls!
Down went the windows, even just at a cruise,
A note so vibrant, it must be Amuse.
The moon on the crest of the freshly-waxed hood,
Gave the lustre of diamonds, shining. It should!
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature box up ahead in the clear.
A small Christmas package, alone in the road,
Where did it come from? A car? Whose load?
More rapid than eagles, my sleigh amply looped,
I braked, and I swerved. Responsive, my coupe.
As dry-weaved carbon at the circuit does fly,
When it meets resistance, aerodynamics apply.
So up to the obstacle, there, in the street,
With my heart beating swiftly, I planted my feet.
"Now, Tein! Now, Cusco! Now, Project Mu!
Come on, Advan and Falken, I need you to glue!"
Two hands on the wheel, braking into a drift,
I came to a halt, a few feet from the gift.
I sat for a moment, foot still on the clutch,
Shift into park, brakes hot to the touch.
So up to the box, I approached and withdrew,
With my hazards engaged, and a flashlight, too.
And there, in the street, a real Christmas distress,
This ornately wrapped present, soon to be ownerless.
Engine earnestly idling, driver door still ajar,
I picked up the package and got back in the car.
The discarded gift now secure in my sled,
I had to decide in which direction to head.
Light on the clutch, pulling back in the road,
My mission to now find the home of my load.
Not knowing where to deliver this bright yuletide smile,
I blindly kept driving, mile by mile.
Then a voice in my head bade me abandon my course,
And pull to the side to discover its source.
Up ahead on the right I spotted a lot,
Not a soul in sight, this I deemed a good spot.
A turn of the wheel and a flick of the shift,
Put me in position to open the gift.
I spoke not a word, but went straight to the box,
Peeled back the tape, then turned like a fox,
I heard a merry chuckle drown out my exhaust,
I knew in that moment this gift was not lost.
I popped open the door, and peered toward the moon's glow,
And that's when I saw it - right there, on the bow.
It read 'Happy Modding! From Santa' handwritten,
That jolly old elf knew the mod bug had bitten.