‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through Tom’s House,
Not a fan blade was whirring, nor a left-handed mouse.
The desktops were hung by some Windows 8 fare,
In hopes that Steve Ballmer was no longer there.
The fanboys were tucked, all snug in their beds,
While visions of bent iPhones danced in their heads.
And Samsung quite smug with its latest rendition:
The Galaxy gingerbread-scented Edition.
Then came the sound of a bad hard disk platter;
I went to call Seagate, just what was the matter?
On hold for two hours 'fore explaining the crash,
Tech support in Mumbai said I should have used flash.
Then out on the lawn I saw such a strange sight;
Almost sharper than 4k 'gainst snow’s blinding white.
When what on my Oculus Rift did appear,
A red Tesla S, with Nvidia's gear.
Sporting skills of a gamer, steering reckless and quick,
I knew that the driver was jolly St. Nick,
More rapid than Broadwells, his coursers they came
Processing threads as he called them by name.
“Now, Intel! Nvidia!
Now ARM, MSI!
On, Gigabyte! On, Asus!
On Raspberry Pi!
AMD’s Captain Jack!”
And I then heard him call,
“Now overclock! Overvolt!
No P-states at all!”
As GeForces blazed lanes of PCIe,
I was fearful they would exceed max TDP.
With each snap of the cord, the faster he flew,
In a race he’d beat WiGig, and Thunderbolt 2,
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
Some fans kick on hard, and a water-cooled loop,
Devil's Canyon engaged, and as I turned around,
Down the chimney a robot St. Nick did abound.
Built from a hodgepodge of spare parts and components,
He stared as he flashed his BIOS for a moment,
He was made of case panels from NZXT,
His head an ASRock board with a red LED.
His eyes—how they burned! His visage, so scary!
His cheeks cooling hoses, his nose MX Cherry.
With no mouth or jaws, just a speaker and grill
Blasting dial-up sounds, so uncomfortably shrill!
His PSUs flew past the kilowatt peak,
The smoke belching off of his head like a wreath.
The SSD RAID 0 right in his big belly,
Stored every Christmas song by Andrea Bocelli.
He was chunky and sharp, a right nasty old elf,
And I dropped my controller, in spite of myself.
With a spin of his head, he gave me a wink.
"How much did it cost, that display with G-sync?”
Then his fans all went silent, he went straight to work,
And filled up his sack with my stuff (what a jerk!)
He flexed pixel shaders, and thumbing his nose,
He accused me of hacks. Up the chimney he rose!
‘Midst confusion and terror, I whipped off my Rift,
And eyed starry skies and an empty snowdrift.
In the darkness I sighed . . . all a cheap VR trick!
No evil and cruel PC parts-built Saint Nick.
I slipped back inside, it was time for some gaming,
Took my Razer BlackWidow and prepared for n00b shaming.
With joy I proclaimed, blasting villains on sight,
“Happy holidays to all, and to Tom’s a good night!”