It was the night before

Transmissmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring,

not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar plums danced in

their heads, and Mama in her kerchief and I in my cap had just settled down for a long winter's nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the shutters and threw up the matter. Away to the window, I flew like a flash, tore open the shutters, and threw up

the sash. The moon, on the breast of the new fallen snow, gave the luster of midday two objects

below, when what to my wondering eyes should appear, but the merciful end of a terrible

year.

Goodbye and good riddance, 2020.

Nevertheless, Merry transmismus, gentle listener.

It's time to sign off on another year of transmissions.

Thank you for listening to us in the year that was.

We will be returning in 2021

and do so hope that you will

again choose to

lend us your ears

such that we might

once again pour

our leprous

distillment of horrific prose into those porches.

...