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FUMARE

Law, culture, and Catholicism...up in smoke!

Friday, December 21, 2007

AMSOL's Night Before Christmas

Courtesy of commenter D-Train:

'Twas the night before Christmas, at AMSOL of all schools,
All us 1L's were typing like half-crazy fools.
Transfer applications were completed with care,
In hopes by next fall we wouldn't be there.

Bernie and Tom were nestled snug in their beds,
While visions of motion 12(b)(6) danced in their heads;
And their wives (may God Bless them for hanging in with these chaps),
Were in need of more than just a little nightcap.

When out in student parking, there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my carrel to see what was the matter.
Away from my Windows Explorer, I flew like a flash,
And ran to the back door where they take out the trash.

The moonlight was dim so I couldn't see far,
Like a Fumarist squinting through smoke behind his cigar.
When what to my wondering eyes did appear?
But a battered old Volvo - sans working heater.

With a middle-aged driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Safranek.
More rapid than eagles from the back seat children came,
And while they threw snowballs and shouted, he called them by name:

"Now grab all those boxes and bags in the trunk,
And be very, very quiet or our plan will be sunk.
To the top of the porch and then the top of the wall
Be careful now kids, and please try not to fall!"

As fast as appellate brief drafts into shredders do fly,
(While legal writing "instructors" try hard not to cry,)
To the top of the school, the kids they all flew,
With some bags full of gifts, and an 'outta breath Steve, too.

And then, in a twinkling, on the roof through the gloom,
I heard a small voice say, "Daddy, I need to use the bathroom."
As I shook my head -- glad to be on the ground,
Down a heating vent came Safranek, with his kids all 'round.

He was dressed all in sweats, from head down to toe,
And his kids were all covered in dust and in snow.
A bundle of gifts he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! His dimples -- how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose frozen red like a cherry!
But, he still wore his tie all tied up like a bow,
And his 5 o'clock shadow was beginning to grow.

He was pretty darn fit for having been put back on the shelf,
And I laughed when I saw him (but just to myself);
Though he had slightly blood-shot eyes and a baseball cap on his head,
He soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

Going straight to his office, he filled boxes with papers and staples,
Faster than real estate prices can drop down in Naples.
Sprinting to the Ad Wing, he stopped by the office of Orsi,
To give him a two volume set of CST and a little stick-horsey.

A leather-bound tome was for Eugene Milhizer,
"The Strategical Tactics of Wilhelm the Kaiser."
For the Dean, a very, very short Westlaw Publication:
"Good Reasons for Risking ABA Accreditation."

For Tom, a tiger-striped bow-tie and a big lump of coal,
'Cause he hadn't been a good boy in court (but don't tell a soul).
In the stockings of others who gave Florida kudos and praise,
Their stockings he stuffed with their annual raise.

It was getting light by the time he was ready to fly up the vent,
Then came what I almost expected, more sex harassment.
Yes, imagine my shock when--without so much as a warning--
He put his hand on my arm and then (gulp!) wished me "Good Morning!"

He sprang towards his car, gave his kids a loud whistle,
And away he sped like an errant SCUD missile.
But I heard him exclaim, though now left with a pittance,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to some... well... Good Riddance!"

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