The Front Line Of Christmas

bitmob December 9, 2011 10:57 PM

Twas the night before Christmas,

And all through Xbox Live

Players were scurrying away from my sights,

Trying to survive

My family was nestled,

All snug in the keep

And I was so hopped up on Red Bull

That I'd never sleep.

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The tree was brightly lit

in my living room,

while a plethora of soldiers

walked to their doom.

I was gazing into my favorite electric screen,

Having holiday fun,

Mowing people down

With my M4A1.

When out on the lawn there arose such a hullabaloo

I got up from my console (and you would have too)

I ran to the window to see what made the noise

And I saw a giant abandoned bag of toys.

I thought it was strange,

So I looked above my head,

And I was witness to some sort of

U.F.O.-Bobsled.

I'd heard of these phenomena,

They're strange, resembling current trends,

Like getting kicked off of an airplane

For playing 'Words with Friends'.

More rapid than Banshees,

Without wings they flew,

Freakin' deer in the sky

And an old man too.

They circled around

And crashed into my roof,

So I grabbed my phone's camera

Compelled to get proof.

Through the chimney they came,

In an entrance quite rude,

A bunch of elves, animals,

And some portly old dude.

He claimed that he was

The all powerful lord of dread

and for some odd reason,

He wanted me dead.

Well that wasn't cool,

See with me, that didn't jive

I was content

With being alive.

So I proposed an idea,

A challenge he'd take,

I'd confront him and his crew on my Xbox,

It'd be a piece of cake.

It started off easy,

I was playing well.

I planned on sending this fatman

Right back to Ho-Ho-Hell.

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We sat down in deathmatch

And right away I knew

That the elves posed no threat,

And I brought down a third of his crew.

Then one by one, like lambs to the slaughter

I blew those caribou out of the water.

And suddenly, like magic the truth did appear:

I had just slayed eight tiny reindeer.

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Santa grabbed a controller,

A new game he inserted,

The bastard paused for a moment,

He plays with his settings inverted.

I spawned near the sniper

Looked through the scope and thought

“Chief, guide my aim…” and

BOOM! Headshot!

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I wanted to post this on social networks,

Even Myspace,

I had just capped Santa

Right in the face.

But then trouble struck:

Turns out the Kringle's got skills

He started racking up achievements

And multiple kills.

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The score was tied up,

And now I could feel

That this guy wasn't a noob,

And that this shit just got real.

I had a needler

And he had a sword,

So I lit him up like New-Year's Eve

Because, goddammit, I'm “Gord”.

He dropped the controller on to the floor

And I knew my life was safe,

And in danger

No more.

Even though we were rivals,

Trading bullets and frags,

At the end of the evening,

We exchanged gamertags.

Before he disappeared up the chimney

He made a Vulcan salute by his head,

And he told me: “Practice up..”

“…Or next year, you're dead.”

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