[Editor’s Note: The Tom’s Hardware staff created this in 2014 for Christmas Eve. We updated it a bit in 2015 and 2016 and ran it again each year on Christmas Eve. It always receives a warm response, so we’re running it again, and as always, we’ve made a few more updates to reflect the current state of technology at the close of 2017. We thank you for your enormous support throughout the year, your selflessness on behalf of your fellow forum members and readers, and your continued feedback and patronage. Tom’s wishes all of our readers and fans a happy holiday.]
‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through Tom’s House,
Not a fan blade was whirring, nor a left-handed mouse.
The gamers were all plagued by some nagging screen tear
And waited for fair-priced GPUs to be there.
The fanboys were tucked, all snug in their beds,
While visions of Volta danced in their heads.
And ‘ol Ajit Pai cackling under a wreath:
“I am the world’s greatest internet thief.”
Then came the sound of bits all a-scatter;
I went to call Samsung, just what was the matter?
On hold for two hours 'fore explaining to me,
Tech support said it’s all this crap TLC.
Then out on the lawn I saw such a strange sight;
Almost sharper than QDOT 'gainst snow’s blinding white.
When what on my Oculus Rift did appear,
A VR backpack, with Nvidia's gear.
Sporting skills of a gamer, steering reckless and quick,
I knew that the driver was jolly St. Nick,
More rapid than Ryzen, his coursers they came
Processing threads as he called them by name.
“Now, Kaby, and Coffee! Cannon and Ice!”
So many Intel “Lakes” (but what of the price?)
He flew high like Bitcoin, and I then heard him call,
“Now overclock! Overvolt! No P-states at all!”
As GeForces blazed lanes of PCIe,
I was fearful they would exceed max TDP.
With each snap of the cord, the faster he flew,
In a race he’d beat Summit, or Watson from Big Blue.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
Some fans kick on hard, and a water-cooled loop,
And then with a gurgle, a purr, and a roar,
Google's self-driving car drove St. Nick through our door.
Built from a hodgepodge of spare parts and components,
He stared as he flashed his BIOS for a moment,
He was made of case panels from NZXT,
His head lit up brightly with full RGB.
His eyes—how they burned! His visage, so scary!
His cheeks cooling hoses, his nose MX Cherry.
His eyebrows aglow, the LEDs reached to his chin,
(Was that Threadripper belching so much heat from his grin?)
His PSUs flew past the kilowatt peak,
The smoke belching off of his head like a wreath.
Alexa was crammed into his round, big ‘ol belly,
Playing Christmas-y songs by Andrea Bocelli.
There were machine-learning cameras on the creepy old elf,
“The Singularity,” I gasped, in spite of myself.
A wink in his eye, from his grip he let loose,
A motherboard for Thomas, a surprise from Asus.
For most of the gang, eighty-five thermal pastes,
For Steve Lynch? A new mid-tower, tempered-glass case.
Paul Alcorn got whatever comes after Zen,
His pal Ramseyer got Samsung EVO again.
AMD got a profitable CPU flurry,
But Intel--well, Intel got Raja Koduri.
Each gift was picked perfectly--but how and why?
He bellowed: “I’m a sentient Santa AI.”
I slipped back inside, it was time for some gaming,
Took my Razer BlackWidow and prepared for n00b shaming.
With joy I proclaimed, blasting villains on sight,
“Happy holidays to all, and to Tom’s a good night!”