Christmas Over the Years
You can scroll past "The Borg Who Stole Christmas" to see the pictures from Christmas past!
All the crew down in crewville liked Christmas a lot,
But the Borg, who lived just outside Crewville, did NOT.
The Borg hated Christmas, the whole Christmas season.
Now please don't ask why, no one quite knows the reason.
It could be their prosthetics were screwed in too tight,
Or that some of their joints weren't oiled just right.
It would be no use asking, for they wouldn't tell.
You could wheedle, cajole, you could shout, scream and yell,
You could beg, you could plead, you could argue all day--
But the Borg were the Borg--and that's all they would say.
So whatever the reason, prosthetics or lube,
They hated the crew and they sat in their cube,
And they growled through their conduits, tubing and gizmas,
"We MUST find a way to assimilate Christmas!
Or tomorrow they'll wake, all that horrible crew--
And we," said the Borg, "we know just what they'll do.
They'll unwrap all their presents, those crew girls and boys,
And start making that noise--oh, that horrible noise!
They'll flip their plyplasmers! They'll switch their frumpzmorders!
They'll scan with their bizzblippers, zronks and tricorders!
The'll turn on their domtrints! They'll zap their crendraves!
They'll send out their Kreger and tachion waves!
And then there's the thing that we hate most of all.
Every crew down in crewville, the tall and the small,
Will go down to 10-Forward and stand in a ring,
And they'll SING! and they'll SING! and they'll SING SING SING SING!!
We can no longer stand this irrelevant stuff!
Resistance is futile! Enough is enough!"
And the Borgers collectively furrowed their brow--
"We HAVE to stop Christmas from coming--but how?"
Meanwhile, down in Crewville, dressed up as an elf,
Troi was shouting, "I can't do this all by myself!
SOmeone has to play Santa! The children will cry
If he doesn't come visit. Come on. Won't you try?"
And she perched a red hat on the top of Worf's head.
"A true Klingon," Worf growled, "would rather play dead."
"Don't force him," said Riker. "The way that he rants,
The kids would be liable to pee in their pants."
"Well then what about--" "NO!" Riker waved her aside.
"I have too much to do." "But you're so nice and wide!
We would not have to pad--" Riker left in a huff.
"Data, what about you?" "I am willing enough,"
Said the android, "But all of the ancient texts said
That this Santa Claus entity's cheeks were quite red,
As well as his nose, and that he had a belly
Which shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
Whereas my face is pale as a tub full of lard,
And I fear that my lap would be rather too hard."
"That leaves Geordi and Barclay," said Crusher. "To tell
You the truth, I don't think either'd work out too well.
Technogeeks and small children--they don't really mix."
"Well then, there's only one way left out of this fix,"
Said Deanna. "The captain must put on the hat."
"Oh my goodness," said Bev. "I don't know about that.
I don't think he'd say yes, if you want my advice."
"Oh he will," Troi replied, "if *you* ask him...real nice."
And when Beverly Crusher had taken Troi's hint,
Well, the glint in her eye was a helluva glint.
She left for the bridge with a nod and a wink,
And a half-hour later--or less, some folks think--
A sheepish Picard stepped from his ready room
With the strangest expression of mixed joy and gloom,
And the bridge crew could see him, from where they all sat,
Adjusting his tunic--and wearing the hat.
(Bev emerged moments later, in some disarray,
And slipped off with a smile to tend to sickbay.)
Meanwhile, back in the Cube, the Borg got an idea.
The Borg got a wonderful, AWFUL idea!
"Our analysis shows that this Christmas consists
Of the giving of presents and keeping of lists
By this Santa Claus lifeform. In his data bank
Are the records of who has been good, and who stank,
And according to this, he dispenses rewards
In the form of new phasers, chocolates, or skateboards.
There is some indication that long long ago,
Someone else was important, but we do not know
Who that was. If we want to assimilate Christmas,
Assimilate Santa, and then we're in business."
So the Borg set out planning, with Borgian wiles,
How to dowload poor Santa and access his files.
MUSICAL NUMBER (sung while the Borg prepares its offensive)
You're a mean one,
Mr. Borg.
You're an inorganic lump!
You're a mindless drone, a robot, you're a cybertronic chump,
Mr. Boooo-ooorg!
And you couldn't pay me to travel in that cubical dank dump!
You're a cruel one,
Mr. Borg.
You've got metal plates for hair!
Your brains are full of implants, you've got plastic underwear,
Mr. Booo-ooorg!
Shatner wouldn't lend you his toupee even if he had one to spare!
So they strapped their transporter clips onto their wrists
And went looking for Santa and all of his lists.
First they hit the crew quarters. Their anger was dire
When all that they saw was a hologram fire
And abover it, some stockings hung neat in a row.
"These stockings," they said, "are the first thing to go!"
And clicking and whirring in a way most unpleasant
They searched round the quarters and took every present!
They scarfed the wrendizmos! They snatched gumblephlors!
They even took all of the replicators!
(And that was the end of the crew Christmas feast!
No more yummy crew-pudding! No tasty roast beast!)
The Borg took those gizmos as quick as a flash--
Now they couldn't make even a can of crew hash.
They beamed it all up with a cyborgly glee,
"And now," whirred the Borg, "assimilate the tree!"
But as they were giving the tree its implants,
They heard a small sound--like a boar when it rants.
And before they could say, "Is it Cindy Lou Who?"
Alexander was on them--and pretty mad, too.
He waved his batl'eth and howled, "Santy Claus, why?
Why are you taking the Christmas tree? Why?"
But the Borg, they are nothing if they are not slick.
They thought up a lie and they thought it up quick.
"There's a light on the top that won't light on one side,
SO we're taking the whole tree right back to the hive
Where there's power to spare, as you must know, my dear.
We'll fix it up there--then we'll bring it back here."
And their fib fooled the Klingon. They patted his head,
Then they got him some rakht and sent him to bed.
And when li'l Alexander was in bed with his worms,
They beamed all of it up, all including the germs.
Then the Borg smiled smugly, the cunning old liar,
And the last thing they took was the hologram fire.
Then they did just the same to the other crews' quarters,
Leaving nothing behind but some boots and tricorders.
But when they stood outside of the last quarters' door
They still hadn't found what they'd come looking for.
They snuck wearily in, headed straight for the tree--
But on their way over there, what should they see
Stretched out on the couch in an unconscious state
But a man in red velvet, on whose shiny pate
Sat a hat with a pompom! The Borg whirred with glee.
"Take him back for downloading," they cried happily.
"No, just him--all we need are the lists in his head.
Just ignore that cute redhead who's sharing his bed."
And then back to the cube flew the Borg with their loot--
A hung-over Jean-Luc in a silly red suit.
"Resistance is futile!" they bellowed. And then,
He looked up, shook his head, and went, "Shit. Not *again.*"
The collective was pleased. "Get the implants. Oh dear!
We're so pumped about this! Oh, just wait till they hear--
'I am Santa of Borg--you will give gifts to us!'
"Let me go!" cried Picard. "Santa, raising a fuss
Is irrelevant. You will be downloaded. Then
We'll assimilate--wait!" Sensors beeped. Down in 10-
Forward something was up they could not understand.
On the screen they saw all the crews stand hand in hand,
And the crews down in crewville--the tall and the small--
Were singing--without any presents at all!
SONG ("A Technobabble Christmas"):
Plasmic spluffer, pattern buffer,
Welcome Christmas from the skies,
Dead red-shirter, phase inverter,
Welcome to the Enterprise!
Welcome Christmas, laser squacel,
Welcome Christmas, warp core, nacelle,
Welcome Christmas as we stand
Heart to heart and hand to hand!
Tronic clamper, inertial damper,
Welcome Christmas, come this way,
Comlink panel, subspace channel,
Welcome Christmas, Christmas day!
Welcome Christmas, Zetathringon,
Human, Betazoid, and Klingon,
Christmas is within our grasp
If we have hands (or fins) to clasp!
Welcome Christmas...(etc.)
The Borg...were perplexed. "What is it that we missed?
It came without presents! It came without lists!
It came without trees! Without hologram fires!"
There was gnashing of implants and rending of wires.
"Christmas came after all! Without Santa! Well then,
The guy's no @#$!! use--beam the boy back again."
And so back to crewville flew Picard in his suit--
He showed up in 10-Forward, which caused quite a hoot.
But, hangover and all, Picard took it in stride.
"Ho ho ho! Ha ha ha! Merry Christmas!" he cried.
"You've all been so good Santa's giving you all
Three months' shore leave on Risa! Cut loose! Have a ball!"
The crews were ecstatic! Bev flashed him a smile.
The presents and stuff reappeared, meanwhile,
Along with replicators and the Worf family tree.
Picard smiled to himself as the kids shrieked with glee.
And when they sat down to table for their Christmas feast
Picard, he, himself, personally carved the Roast Beast.
On to the Christmas Pictures, Click the button!