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« on: April 06, 2013, 03:25:42 am »
**RIPPED OFF FROM 'THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS
**UNINTENTIONAL DUCK BASED BIAS
**WAY TOO MUCH FREE TIME
Twas the night before COGs, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The ships were fitted in the air with care,
In hopes that their challengers would soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sniping galleons danced in their heads.
And Morbie in his tophat, Squah in his cap,
Holy shit, they went boom! M&^*%^&^%^ers quack, quack.
When out on the lobby there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the computer I flew like a flash,
Threw open the game and threw up the match.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
The map is fjords, the ships hang below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a 40 hour match, my poor eye’s leered.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Captain Smollett,
More rapid than eagles his team they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the mountain top as a team they flew,
With the ship full of explosives, and mighty ducks too.
And then, in a twinkling, I saw in the sky,
The flak and the gat, in their ship so high.
As they drew in their head, and were turning around,
Down the Gentlemen came with a bound.
They we’re dressed all in ammunition, from their heads to their feet,
Their clothes were all tarnished with ashes and grease.
A bundle of lochnagar the gunner had flung on his back,
He said, “eat this M&*&^%$^*%ers and shot his Flak-Gat.”
His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
QWERTY’s mouth was drawn down like a bow,
And he said, : Oh fuck! How the meta blows.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the cast, then turned with a jerk.
And grimaced at Squash when they turned and wrought,
The gentlemen’s efforts for shit-all but naught!
Squash sprang in his ship, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the point of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy COGs to all, and to all a good-snipe!"
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, all in jest of course.