ataner

'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.