‘Twas the week before Christmas and all through the land,
News crews were squeezing into their vans.
To airports and malls they carried their loads,
They even went LIVE by the side of the road…

Around them the world began to slow down,
But they were too busy looking for sound.
Grilling last minute shoppers and fake Santa Clauses,
Their producers would cue them when to take pauses…

Back at the station, managers vanished,
The green room sat empty, its visitors banished.
Top anchors split early, their substitutes preening,
Thank God the Year-Ender was due for a screening…

Over in the studio, the pizza’s arriving,
It’s all that keeps the floor crew surviving.
But the Sports guy dives in, as do the slackers,
Back in the live truck, they eat chap-stick and crackers…

But if good food and family are things you will miss,
What the hell are you still doing in this business?
Why you’re lucky to have a job at this station,
Unlike normal folk, The Truth takes no vacation…

So hang in there, all of you stuck in a truck,
Our industry’s changing and so will your luck.
But should you start feeling merry – now or later,
Know you’re breathing in fumes from the truck’s generator.