Tis time once again for our holiday pal,

Gender neutral, nondenominational, et al.,

To dole out our gifts for the coming New Year

and to wish all of Harvard some winter good cheer.

To George we have given the big throne at Yale,

To the nation, an overdue respite from Quayle,

To Jack Kemp, Nick Brady and C. Boyden Gray

A burned-out new home in South Central L.A.

To Clinton we offer a serene honeymoon

And a Jenny Craig diet to shed some pounds soon.

To Al '69, whose earth plans are surefire,

We give record book sales and a water purifier.

To Hillary, gumption to prove she's feminist,

And Tipper, perhaps, Larry Welk's last playlist.

To the economy we give a kick in the tush

And Harvard's best and brightest to give it a push.

To the man who has everything, our buddy H. Ross,

We give some Lifesavers to get over his loss.

To political losers in this year's elections,

Some posts at the K-School and huge wage reductions.

To Fergie and Andrew, Prince Charles and Lady Di,

We give equal shares of the divorce-settlement pie.

To the European "Community," whose agreements have leaked,

We give a new treaty; stay out of Maastricht!

To Rudy, a mint in alumni donations

And a settlement ending HUCTW demonstrations.

Their salaries immediately must multiply--

Let Shattuck shelve books if he can't comply.

To Knowles, some time--he does seem quite busy.

With more room for appointments, he'll be less in a tizzy.

To Epps, a good iron to smooth over relations,

To Counter and Gravelle, some long-term vacations.

To Latino students who have something to say,

Skip Gates as an example of progress some day.

To the old boys' network in all of its glories

A push off a building with seventeen stories.

To students of Lee, a big pile of film passes;

They'll learn so much there, they won't need his classes.

To C-Minus Mansfield, some needles, cloth and thread,

As "little ladies" scream, "Off with his head!!"

To Michael P. Berry, Messiah no more,

A new set of menus, our food's been so poor

We're tired of chicken, oh so weary, you see,

Just surviving on pasta bar, bread and soft brie.

To the Ad Board, those judges of social taboo,

A lesson in honesty from Maya Prabhu.

To the Business School dean, who lords over Shad Hall,

A slim slice of cake--you can't have it all.

To our players victorious in this year's great Game

We hope next year's defense will give us the same.

But for the athletics department, a lesson in glasnost--

A weekend at Red Top is what we would like most.

To U.C. committees who can't snag us singers

We heartily extend to them our middle fingers.

To 29 Gsters, a room with a view

Of something other than East Timbuktu.

To Pat, our best wishes for a good cup of joe.

The Square's pickings sans Tommy have been kind

of slow. To Liz, George, Paul, Brian, and all of the rest

Some heat, new door handles, floor tiles--the best.

To the 119th Guard at the end of our reign

Retirement! Retirement! Again we'll be sane.

To the new kids in town, we say this with tack,

What the hell are you thinking? Say no to Class Act!

Sincerely we wish a good year to you all.

If we missed you, write letters or give us a call.

Your New Year's resolution is to join us, no doubt--

Our comp starts this week, so come check us out.