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 ^{(it's beta!)}

Cliched as it may be it may just well seem right for here our story starts on a dark and stormy night With all the shutters battered down and all the doors locked tight a tale of truly darkish thoughts and nightmarish delights you have been warned You hold your breath, for the slightest sound sends many friends a 'quaking and as this maroon 'rauder comes you find your own words shaking The fog rolls in and you swear you hear a chilling note appear a purplish tint o'er the snow that reeks of black despair There's a knock on your door and says a voice With echoes high and low "Come doth the night, come doth the words and let them freely flow" A shutter snaps, then the rest break free And a purple laughter you hear how you might describe a voice as such is impossible, you fear. And out you look, o'er whitest snow naught but a purple haze remains but the laugh, you fear, is still quite near as in Hendrix's' refrain My merry Christmas to you, P.H. May all the good cheer here follow you far Like the fog that this epic describes Though (I hope) not quite as bizarre. it continues (after this holiday break)