Heald
24th December 2010, 06:43 AM
This is a poem for DivineAll for Christmas.
The Night Before Christmas
TPM Edition
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Forums,
All hell had broken loose, against all proper decorum.
Blademaster was having a knife fight with Bear,
Whilst firepokemon bleated obscenities, to all he would share.
The members were posting banal, stupid threads,
Writing about the first pointless thing that popped in their heads.
(In case you didn’t notice, this crude Christmas rap,
Is a present for DivineAll that I don’t have to wrap.)
When out from the Mod Forum there arose such a clatter,
The members all chanted, “Who gives a fuck? Does it matter?”
They returned to their flame wars and furrowed their brows and
Master Rudy made a joke referring to “It’s Over Nine Thousand.”
Mt Moon, our new forum, was covered in snow,
And appeared to be shitting all over the forums below.
Then suddenly a flash, that startled the sods,
A Jetbike appeared, drawn by eight Mods.
With a foul, cursing driver, incoherent and plastered,
They all said, “Oh it’s Heald, that fat drunken bastard.”
His coursers were Mods, he had them in chains,
And he whistled, and shouted, and yanked on their reins:
"Now Drago! Now, RedStar! now, Jeff and mr_pikachu!
On, Weasel! On, Pants! On Darklie and Melg too!
To the top of Misc then to the top of the board!
We’ve got presents to give!” were the words that he roared.
He guided the mods to land on the roof,
Then took a swig of his rum (one-hundred and eighty one proof).
Kuro Espeon asked, “What is he up to this time?”
Chobi added, “Is there an end to this god-awful rhyme?”
He burst through the door, his breath stank of cheap beer,
The members huddled close in terror and fear.
He glanced across the crowd, a banhammer he grips,
And a big fat cigar did hang from his lips.
He reached down his pants and all covered their eyes,
But instead of his balls he had a surprise.
He pulled out presents for each and for all,
Some big, some colourful, some heavy, some small.
He handed a Wii to Mikachu, to shazza some beer,
And a big rubber dick for Andrew (the queer).
To abunaidesu a scarf, and to Asi a wood globe,
To Magmar a bong and to DivineAll a robe.
He kept handing out gifts, it was a hell of a show,
(To those who are interested, he was giving out Blow).
He handed out tobacco, and whisky, and movies and hats,
And to Gabi a book filled with photos of twats.
The clock struck midnight, no longer he could linger,
He dashed out the door, and gave them the finger.
He exclaimed as he rode away on his jetbike,
"Happy Christmas to all, except Zak that damned kike!”
The Night Before Christmas
TPM Edition
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Forums,
All hell had broken loose, against all proper decorum.
Blademaster was having a knife fight with Bear,
Whilst firepokemon bleated obscenities, to all he would share.
The members were posting banal, stupid threads,
Writing about the first pointless thing that popped in their heads.
(In case you didn’t notice, this crude Christmas rap,
Is a present for DivineAll that I don’t have to wrap.)
When out from the Mod Forum there arose such a clatter,
The members all chanted, “Who gives a fuck? Does it matter?”
They returned to their flame wars and furrowed their brows and
Master Rudy made a joke referring to “It’s Over Nine Thousand.”
Mt Moon, our new forum, was covered in snow,
And appeared to be shitting all over the forums below.
Then suddenly a flash, that startled the sods,
A Jetbike appeared, drawn by eight Mods.
With a foul, cursing driver, incoherent and plastered,
They all said, “Oh it’s Heald, that fat drunken bastard.”
His coursers were Mods, he had them in chains,
And he whistled, and shouted, and yanked on their reins:
"Now Drago! Now, RedStar! now, Jeff and mr_pikachu!
On, Weasel! On, Pants! On Darklie and Melg too!
To the top of Misc then to the top of the board!
We’ve got presents to give!” were the words that he roared.
He guided the mods to land on the roof,
Then took a swig of his rum (one-hundred and eighty one proof).
Kuro Espeon asked, “What is he up to this time?”
Chobi added, “Is there an end to this god-awful rhyme?”
He burst through the door, his breath stank of cheap beer,
The members huddled close in terror and fear.
He glanced across the crowd, a banhammer he grips,
And a big fat cigar did hang from his lips.
He reached down his pants and all covered their eyes,
But instead of his balls he had a surprise.
He pulled out presents for each and for all,
Some big, some colourful, some heavy, some small.
He handed a Wii to Mikachu, to shazza some beer,
And a big rubber dick for Andrew (the queer).
To abunaidesu a scarf, and to Asi a wood globe,
To Magmar a bong and to DivineAll a robe.
He kept handing out gifts, it was a hell of a show,
(To those who are interested, he was giving out Blow).
He handed out tobacco, and whisky, and movies and hats,
And to Gabi a book filled with photos of twats.
The clock struck midnight, no longer he could linger,
He dashed out the door, and gave them the finger.
He exclaimed as he rode away on his jetbike,
"Happy Christmas to all, except Zak that damned kike!”