The Byte Before Christmas
Twas the byte before Christmas, and all through the house Not a user was using, not even a mouse The programs were hung from the bugs in their code, in hopes that a guru would soon cure their woes. the data were nestled all snug in their beds While versions of software danced in their heads The boss dimmed the lights as I locked my desk a couple of days off and a well deserved rest. Then all of a sudden there came such a clatter I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter away to the processor I flew like a flash What a terrible sound. like a massive head crash The lights were blinking and beaming aglow the hardcopy printout said "Let service know" and what to my wandering eyes should appear on a silicon wafer.. a field engineer a little device driver so lively and quick I knew in a moment, it must be St. Chip More rapid than Macro, his curser insane he whistled and shouted like a video game to the top of the registers, the bottom of core! run diagnostics and see what they store as memory leaves when electricity files the "Rep" cracked a smile and loosened his tie He was chubby and plump--said the place was a wreck and I laughed when I saw him (in spite of high-tech) A wink of his eye and a twist of his head soon gave me to know, I had nothing to dread he was dressed from his head to his feet in a suit, his briefcase was heavy with tools to re-boot with bundles of bits bulging out of his slacks he spoke not a word, but straight to his work re-seated PC boards, then turned with a smirk Hit return with his finger and said "here it goes" and giving a nod, into the CRT he dove But I heard him exclaim, 'ere leaving the sight Restore the data, and all will be right"
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