This was given to me by the girls in the EAS ops room, so I'll try type it out correctly for all to enjoy
'Twas the night before Christmas, and out on the ramp,
Not an airplane was stirring, not even a Champ.
The aircraft were fastened to tiedowns with care,
In hopes that come morning, they all would be there.
The fuel trucks were nestled, all snug in thier spots,
With gusts from two-forty at 39 Knots.
I slumped at the fuel desk, now finally caught up,
And settled down comfortably, resting my but.
When the radio lit up with noise and with chatter,
I turned up the scanner to see what was the matter.
A voice clearly heard over static and snow,
Called for clearance to land at the airport below.
He barked his transmission so lively and quick,
I'd have sworn that the callsign he used was "St Nick".
I ran to the panel to turn up the lights,
The better to welcome this magical flight.
He called his position, no room for denial,
"St Nicolas One, turnin' left onto final."
And what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Rutan-built sleigh, with eight Rotax Reindeer!
With vectors to final, down the glideslope he came,
As he passed all the fixes, he called them by name:
"Now Ringo! Now Tolga! Now Trini and Bacun!
On Comet! On Cupid!" What pills was he takin'?
While controllers were sittin', and scratchin' their head,
They phoned to my office, and I heard it with dread,
The message tey left was both urgent and dour:
"When Santa pulls in, have him please call the tower."
He landed like silk, with the sled runners sparking,
Then I heard "Left Charlie," and "Taxi to parking."
He slowed to a taxi, turned off of three-oh
And stopped on the ramp with a "Ho, ho-ho-ho..."
He stepped out of the sleigh, but before he could talk,
I ran out to meet him with my best set of chocks.
His red helmet and goggles were ! covered with frost
And his beard was all blackened from Reindeer exhaust.
His brath smelled like peppermint, gone slightly stale,
And he puffed on a pipe, but didn't inhale.
His cheeks were all rosy and jiggled like jelly,
His boots were at black as a cropduster's belly
He was chubby and plump, in his suit of bright red,
And he asked me to "fill it, with hundred low lead."
He came dashing in from the snow-covered pump,
I knew he was anxious for drainin' the sump.
I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,
And I filled up the sleigh, but I spilled like a jerk.
He came out of the restroom, and sighed in relief,
Then he picked up a phone for a Flight Service brief.
And I thought as he silently scribed in his log
Theese reindeer could land in an eighth-mile fog.
He completed his pre-flight, from front to the rear,
Then he put on his headset, and I heard him yell, "Clear!"
And Laying a finger on his push-to-talk,
He called up the tower for clearance and squawk.
"Take taxiway Charlie, the southbound direction,
Turn right three-two-zero at pilot's discretion"
He sped down the runway, the best of the best,
"your traffic's a Grumman, inbound from the west."
Then I heard him proclaim, as he climbed thru the night,
"Merry Christmas to all! I have traffic in sight."
And some Classic slips I remember over Christmas:
Many ATC's getting so used to saying te usual Xmas greeting continiously end up wishing the Muslim crews a Merry Christmas which isn't always greeted with a warm response.
And the best is
ATC to a BAW crew:
Merry Christmas to you and your SCREW 