‘Tis the Friday before Christmas Eve and all through the Haas
Not an order is stirring- please don’t tell my boss.
My spreadsheets are up, so upon them I stare
In hopes that my team lead will see progress there
The buyers are nestled all snug in their cubes
In hopes of going home to watch their boob tubes
And me in my casual Friday attire
Think of Sunday with poopers and JMan and fire
When all of a sudden-nothing at all happened
Things had not improved, and nor had they crappened
I still sit here drooling, beginning to fear
That nothing- no new work will ever appear.
I’ll sit here and look like a wee busy bee
In hopes that not one soul will catch on to me.
When the clock strikes five and my workday is through
I’ll be on my merry way and go home for a brew.
Merry Almost Christmas.