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'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the racks | |
Not a server was alerting, not even Compaqs. | |
The backups were written to tapes with care | |
In hopes that later the data would be there. | |
The machines were nestled all snug in their sleds | |
Whilst visions of vengeance danced in their heads; | |
And oncall in his three-wolf and I in my rack. | |
Had just settled down for some syn and some ack. |