'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE Christmas, when at UBC Halls not a creature was stirring, at least none with balls. The cash bags were hung in the Day Rooms with care, In hopes that rat contractors would fill them up there. The BA's were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of two pensions danced in their heads. McCarron was at the "Team Players" school, Blowing rank and file cash on a Las Vegas Yule. When out on the quad there arose such a noise, He paged to summon his security boys. When he was certain that they had covered his ass, He timidly peeked through the bullet proof glass. The neon that shone from the casino's nearby, Gave a bright, sickly luster to the pale desert sky, When, what to his wondering eyes should appear, but an old Union Leader and eight Unioneers. With this ghostly old Leader, his eyes full of fire, Mac knew in a moment it was Peter McGuire. More forceful than Tigers, his colleagues they came, And he whistled and shouted and called them by name: Now Sacco! Now Vanzetti! Now Joe hill and Lewis! On Gompers! On Randolph! On, Debs and Keogh! On men, let's enter This Brainwashing Palace, So all there will realize, the extent of our malice! McGuire was raging, his brain close to rupturing, "Where is this asshole who gave us 'Restructuring'? It's no use to hide, you traitorous hack, I banished piecework and you brought it BACK!" McCarron cowered in his fortress-like suite, "Well, they can't get in here, it's secure and complete!" As he began to feel safe in this secure penthouse spire, through the steel plated walls burst Peter McGuire! He wore denim and chambray, from his neck to his foot, And his apron was tarnished with sawdust and soot. A bag full of tools he had flung on his back, The man was a worker, and that is a FACT! His eyes-how they burned! His hair flat and limp! He looked like a carpenter; Mac looked like a pimp! "You are killing our Union, damn it all man! What part of ONE MAN, ONE VOTE, do you not understand?" "Our workers lives suffer while yours is filled with fun, lunch with Chao, golf with Tudor, flights with Shrub on AF1! Your Corporate Union, you can shove up your Ass," Said McGuire (a vision of Workingman Class). He was squared jawed and straight, a quite serious ghost, And McCarron wished he was back on the coast. The stare of his eyes and the set of his head, filled Mac, our hero, with trembling and dread. "The UBC belongs to the Members, not you and your cronies, you are not visionaries; you're CHISLERS and PHONIES! The Brothers and Sisters with their scarred, calloused hands, Are worth a thousand of you and your paid Staffer bands! "We are leaving now, Cash Boy, but don't rest or sleep; you'll face a Rank and File Election, you CORPORATE CREEP! I will ring in your ears like a Union Made bell! You're a SELLOUT, McCarron, may you ROT IN HELL!"