The Night before - a kinda contest

[markem]

This really isn't a contest, in that there is no winner, but I do reserve the right to bomb the people who make me laugh. The rules are simple. Make up a Christmas Story about CA.

Here is my try:


Twas the night before Christmas
and all through the house.
Not a creature was stirring
'cept Da Klugs, that louse!

Cigars piled high,
he was carefully wrapping
For BOTLs aplenty
let them not be caught napping

When up on the rooftop
should happen to sound
A skater's ol' footfall
that spelled Iceghog was found

And then it did happen
just lickity split!
The packages frantic
went zip, zip, and pip!

One to poor Poker, his Marlboro's all red
One to goRob, don't let it go to his head.

And all through the night did these Merry Men labor
So when it was over, their evening to savor

So if you should hear funny noises this eve,
Barricade yourself in lest a bomb in they heave

Merry Christmas to all, was heard without fright,
Great cheer and great smokes and to all a good night.

I'll give it a shot.

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a VOLT.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Silverfox soon would be there.

The MassHoles were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of CC's danced in their heads.
And Vin in his‘kerchief, and Bao in his cap,
Had just settled their brains for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eleven tinny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it couldn't be Old Sailor .
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Poker! now, Klugs! now, Croaton and PNOON!
On, Icehog3! On, mmblz! on, on FloydP on MoTheMan on lasciviousXXX on Zemekone and 68TriShield!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Old Smokes, and Silverfox too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Fox came with a bound.

He was all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his tail was all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of Cubans he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a stogie he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his paw aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-bomb-night!"

'Twas the night after Christmas and all on the 'net
were stories of smokes, of scotch and glass sets.
The stockings were empty, the boxes destroyed
Truly Christmas had come, to the girls and boys

The cigars were all nestled all snug in the humi's
cigars and pipes the theme of the day.

Smoke hung thick 'round PNOONs head that night
his eyes glazed over in the monitors light
his thoughts quickly shifted to some bumps at the door
"whats this?" he cried as he ran 'cross the floor.
he opened the portal to see what the hell,
had made so much racket, but didn't ring the doorbell.

Out in the snow a box with his name
he carefully shook it, to hear what's inside,
yet nothing rattled or seemed alive.
perhaps a bomb was packed too well
to hear the tale-tell, tick, ticking

Away cross the land a fur hatted one waits
to see the fate, of the box he had sent,
would it get there too late?

Carefully, Pnoon opened the duct-tape-sealed package.
he winced as the flaps came open to frame
what was inside this this box with his name

Inside a shirt, the color of red, would soon slide over
Peter's round head.
His name on the back, their badge on his chest
surely He thought "dressed as this,"
"I could be one of Anfields best? "

inside was a note along with an H.Upmann to boot,
"Hope you enjoy this, especially in May
When we're on top, and a Champ's League Win."
Scousers are faithful 110 percent.

The furhatted one smiled when he got the PM,
he leaned back and laughed and said
"Merry Christmas My friend."