'Twas the night before Christmas,
And at the Consortium base.
People expressed their hatred,
Of alien race.
Turrets were set up,
Trenches were dug.
Arms were for guns,
Not giving hugs.
So when Santa arrived,
He was quite perplexed.
No chimneys, no trees,
Through quantum entanglement,
He asked for advice.
How to give presents,
For those who weren't nice?
His elves considered, consulted and thought,
But decided they needed a further report.
Santa was hesitant, but then he flew in.
He could deliver his presents, he knew he could win.
Yet the humans had been here for many a year,
And were not in the mood for some Christmas cheer.
The sleigh was detected, the guns opened fire,
The troopers earnt Santa's quite miffed ire.
Yet the presents were dropped,
And Saint Nick flew away.
He'd not have to come back here,
For 365 more days.
The idea for this came from a poem passed around Sydney City Council staff, of Santa being perplexed by renovations to the building. Luckily those renovations don't include firearms, but somehow came up with this in the meantime. Anyway, Merry Christmas.