'Twas the night before Vapemas, when all through the house
Every creature was hoping, even the mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that DeadShort soon would be there;
The vaporists were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of Magic-Flights danced in their heads;
And mamma with her Wispr, and I with my Pax,
Had just settled our brains on what we would snack,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a miniature vape and a six pack of beer,
And a kind vaporist all vaped up, of course,
I knew in a moment he must be DeadShort.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney DeadShort came with a bound.
He was dressed all in hemp, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with AVB and soot;
A bundle of vapes he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a stoner just opening his pack.
The straw of a Flight he held tight in his teeth,
The vapor, it encircled his head like a wreath;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
And I heard him exclaim, as he reached to the sky —
“Merry Vapemas to all, and to all a good high!”