Bleary-eyed, but confident of unsets all around, we sit dreaming of a white Christmas. Yes, before this literary mess again hits print old Santa will have come and gone. Trees are scattered round the unit here and there, but "Mitch's" individual little tree seems to take top honors. A desk job, "Mich" is proud of his spirit.

A certain member of the clan isn't from Pittsburgh; how come his nickname Intimates as much? By the way, according to schedule this column and the Christmas watch list should come out the same day. All the good news at once, oh, fellows?

Just don't sing "I'll be home for Christmas" in front of Millsaps College's one man team Bill Stark. "Ah don't know why they don't move Harvard down South so ah kin go home, too," was Stark's latest comment. Kirby "Tha's what ah any, too." Pickle has shown more than an eating interest in salted pretzels lately. He is joined by the muscley T.C.U. guard, H.B. Thomas, in his consumption. Is it the salt or the pretezls of just the idea, fellas?

We've climbed on the back of our Trojan buddie Randolph "Pits" Phillips, editorially speaking, but he really isn't the soap-shirker we make him out to be. Oh, did you hear how the Count de Wright got pigeoned into going down for cakes? Oh, well, you can't have your own cake, and eat it too.

Now that he's finally learned to say "about" and "come," Tom Wileaux seems destined for certain success in the social world. Spearling of carcers, Abe Zeleznik could, as someone so quaintly said, in a chit for the janitor's jab if he stayed much longer after Full Studies and Management.

Well, we're serving fruit and nuts and giving codles of free gifts up in Chase C-36 on Christmas Eve. Just bring your wallet and a se--a beautiful blonde and knock three times. We'll know Joe sent you. Oh yes, send her in second so the wrong person doesn't got clubbed to death.