By David Niall Wilson
‘Twas the night before Twitmas, when all through the house,
Not an interface stirring, not even a mouse;
The E-cards were printed with Holiday Flair,
And a Blip.FM Christmas tune hung in the air;
The rugrats were down for the count in their beds
While visions of Playstations danced in their heads;
And ma with her zinfandel, I with cognac,
Had just settled down to build, box, wrap and stack;Read more…
North entrance of NORAD