The series was safe, with the Pecker in bed
Since absolute zero did dance through his head.
He'd have to wait 'til the end of his nap
To go on with plotting more insipid crap.

Then on the SG board arose such a clatter,
We typed in the addy to check out the matter.
The story'd been fine, until a new tack
Was added by resident lunatic BAK.

"But what's wrong with Quinn being a dragon," he started,
When from him all seventeen players' eyes departed.
For what should our shocked little band chance to see,
But all of the Sliders, as well as Maggie!

A jovial fellow we took for the Prof,
Shoved BAK from the chair, telling him to 7:-# off.
He wrote a new portion, and done with the torch
Proceeded to through the revised roll call scorch.

"Now Rembrandt, now Maggie, Diana and Quinn!
On Mallory, Wade, and to finish, Colin!"
The boarders looked on as this group wove a tale
Which matched Dickens, Mark Twain and yes, Skakespeare for scale.

Yet a knock took away our first chance to enjoy
The odd sight of a story being wrapped by Farm Boy.
Whose visit caused HK to cry, "What the heck?!!"
If you guessed Trace Tormé, you would be correct!

The Writer of Writers was clad head to toe,
(In contrast to Maggie's get-up as a ho.)
While most of the stunned posters looked like they'd die,
A nonchalant QBall did simply wave 'Hi.'

His impish eyes danced much like those of an elf,
And his girth conjured visions of Santa himself.
"I was driving," he said, "thought I'd stop at your cave,
Take my mind off a certain numbskull they call Dave."

He signed off the story, then proved we'd been gypped
By presenting Tf with the REAL Seer script.
The time come to leave, a tear ran down his belly
(See "Cry Like A Man," which Trace wrote with Paul Kelly.)

The miracles done with, Quinn opened the gate
And into infinity stepped the bold eight.
I heard Tormé call as he sped out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and BAK, LEARN HOW TO WRITE!!!!"