Strategypage reports the Russian navy has named its newest nuclear submarine after Saint Nicholas. Do Russian boomers now deliver toys instead of missiles? Do the missile warheads now contain candy and confetti instead of thermonuclear destruction? Has the bear gone all cuddly?

 

 

Once upon a midnight dreary

Conning tower wet and slick

Santa rested, sad and weary

Bundled up like old Saint Nick

Seas a-pitching, quite precarious

Sack askew, his step unsure

Reindeer smirking, how hilarious

Periscope a distant lure

“Hold on there, boys,” the old man cried

“I’ve barely time to have a look

Though goodness knows I’ve tried and tried

To find that gosh darn address book!

This sure ain’t no forsaken roof

I think we’re on a submarine

Just look about you for the proof

I’m getting soaked and getting mean”

For warmth the reindeer stamped their feet

And shivered lightly in the rain

For hours now they’d faced defeat

As Santa tried the hatch in vain

“I’ll get in now, and I do mean

I’ll get in now, by Jiminy!

The problem is, a submarine

Just doesn’t have a chiminy!

They need a house,” he cried aloud

His arms thrust upward to the sky

“A house of which they can be proud

The best that gold can freely buy!”

Up popped the hatch, up popped a head

“I surely know the very one!

There’s lots of room,” the stranger said

“And lots of early morning sun!”

“And who are you?” the old man asked

“And how did I get on this tub?”

“Why I’m the man who’s rightly tasked

To captain now this lovely sub

So come aboard, it’s Christmas Eve

The crew and I are waiting

We heard you land, could not believe

And started celebrating

Just follow me right down this hatch

Be careful with your prizes

I see your bag has quite a batch

Of wonderful surprises”

“Can Santa down a hatch go, boys?”

The old man asked his reindeer

“Is it fair wide for bags of toys

And Santa’s favorite, Cane beer?”

The reindeer pawed, their heads they shook

They didn’t know the answer

“Why don’t you just go have a look?”

Piped up the one named Dancer.

He did just fit, though it was snug

And clambered down the ladder

He gave his beard a gentle tug

And said, “It doesn’t matter

It’s Christmas Eve and every one

Is eager for some cheer

I’ve something for each mother’s son

Including some good beer”

Then through the missile room he stepped

Amid the crew’s hubbub

As Christmas morning slowly crept

And blessed their little sub