Post by Rusty Shackleford on Dec 24, 2013 22:12:44 GMT
'Twas the night before Christmas, and all throughrout space,
Not an alien was stirring, not one single race.
The starcruisers were docked at the spaceport with care,
And not one had a breach, not one was leaking air.
The aliens were nestled all snug in their cryopods,
While angsty ship captains recorded their audiologs.
And Lieutenant and Flight Chief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled in for a long cryo nap.
When out on the hull there arose such a clatter,
I ejected my pod to see what was the matter.
Away to my battle station I flew like a flash,
I opened the viewport and was ready to blast.
The moons on the horizon of the planet's shadow
Gave the lustre of suns to the ship hulls below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a spaceworthy sleigh, and eight space reindeer.
With a little old pilot, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Griff.
More rapid than spacefighters his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now Blaster! now Wizard! now, Plasma and Klixen!
On Meteor! On, Welder! On Bomber and Assistant!
To the top of the galaxy, to the top of them all,
Now fly away, fly away, fly away all!"
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the hull
Scratchings and scrapings, though the sounds were quite dull.
As I closed the viewport, and was turning around,
Through disposals St. Griffolas had slid without sound.
He was clad in all grey, from his head to his foot,
And the fabric was tarnished with bloodstains and soot.
A bundle of guns he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a raider, readying for an attack.
He was 30 and bald, a right griffy old elf,
And I screamed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
He pulled out a toolbox and gave blows to my head,
And soon I realized that I would be dead.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And broke all the windows, and started to twerk.
He welderbombed arrivals, griefed escape as well,
Then left the whole crew to die in this hell.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a kick,
And away they all flew, him looking like a huge dick.
But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight,
"Merry Griefmas to all, and to all a laggy night!"
Not an alien was stirring, not one single race.
The starcruisers were docked at the spaceport with care,
And not one had a breach, not one was leaking air.
The aliens were nestled all snug in their cryopods,
While angsty ship captains recorded their audiologs.
And Lieutenant and Flight Chief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled in for a long cryo nap.
When out on the hull there arose such a clatter,
I ejected my pod to see what was the matter.
Away to my battle station I flew like a flash,
I opened the viewport and was ready to blast.
The moons on the horizon of the planet's shadow
Gave the lustre of suns to the ship hulls below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a spaceworthy sleigh, and eight space reindeer.
With a little old pilot, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Griff.
More rapid than spacefighters his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now Blaster! now Wizard! now, Plasma and Klixen!
On Meteor! On, Welder! On Bomber and Assistant!
To the top of the galaxy, to the top of them all,
Now fly away, fly away, fly away all!"
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the hull
Scratchings and scrapings, though the sounds were quite dull.
As I closed the viewport, and was turning around,
Through disposals St. Griffolas had slid without sound.
He was clad in all grey, from his head to his foot,
And the fabric was tarnished with bloodstains and soot.
A bundle of guns he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a raider, readying for an attack.
He was 30 and bald, a right griffy old elf,
And I screamed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
He pulled out a toolbox and gave blows to my head,
And soon I realized that I would be dead.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And broke all the windows, and started to twerk.
He welderbombed arrivals, griefed escape as well,
Then left the whole crew to die in this hell.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a kick,
And away they all flew, him looking like a huge dick.
But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight,
"Merry Griefmas to all, and to all a laggy night!"
