|
With
aplogies to by Clement Clarke Moore (1779-1863) He was more
of a poet than I'll ever be, but I did my best!
|
| |
|
|
| 'Twas
the night before Christmas, when all through the house |
| Not a
peripheral was stirring, not even the mouse |
| The stockings
were hung by the chimney with care, |
| In hopes
that St. Nicholas soon would be there; |
| |
| The younger
gamers were nestled all snug in their beds, |
| While
visions of discs & rockets danced in their heads; |
| And the
Mrs. in Tribes and myself in CS. |
| Had just
settled down for a long fraging Fest, |
| |
| When up
on the roof there arose such a clatter, |
| I lept
up from my camping to see what was the matter. |
| Away the
window I flew like a flash, |
| Tore open
the blinds and threw open the sash. |
| |
| The
moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow |
| Gave the
gamma correction of mid-day to objects below. |
| When,
what to my wondering eyes should appear, |
| But a
miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer. |
| |
| With a
little old driver, so lively and quick, |
| I knew
in a moment it must be St. Nick. |
| More rapid
than a plasma shot his coursers they came, |
| And he
whistled and shouted and called them by name; |
| |
| Now Railer!,
now, CT! now, Camper and Capper! |
| On HeavyO!,
On LightD! On Dueler & Sniper! |
| To the
top of the porch! To the top of the wall! |
| Now strafe
away! Strafe away! Strafe away all! |
| |
| As CS
players who are giving boosts, |
| Will climb
rather quickly to their sniping roosts, |
| So up
the house-top the coursers they flew, |
| With the
sleigh full of gaming goodness, and St. Nicholas too. |
| |
| He was
dressed all in fur, Like Ragnar from Rune, |
| I checked
quickly, to my relief he wasn't followed by viking type goons. |
| A bundle
of peripherals he had flung on his back, |
| And he
looked like a LAN gamer just opening his pack. |
| |
| His eyes
-- How they twinkled! His dimples how merry! |
| His cheeks
were like roses, his nosy like a cherry! |
| His droll
little mouth was drawn up like a bow. |
| A look
I often get when I'm about to snipe their O. |
| |
| The stump
of a cigar he held tight in his teeth, |
| Looking
alot like the Sarge, if that doesn't strain your belief. |
| He had
a broad face and a little round belly, |
| That shook
when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. |
| |
| He spoke
not a word, but went straight to his work, |
| No, delivering
toys not deploying turrets you jerk! |
| He filled
up the stockings with nVidia cards and games and mice! |
|
And proved
in that instant his heart was not ice.
|
| |
| For nothing
brings more cheer to one's day, |
| Than knowing
that higher frame rates are an install away. |
| Whilst
gettings socks and jeans is wonderfull Sam, |
| Santa
must love me, I got another 256 of RAM. |
| |
| With his
work here done, he laid a finger along his nose |
| And giving
a nod, up the chimney he rose. |
| |
| He sprang
to his sleight, 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, |
| "Merry
Christmas to all gamers! May you have low pings tonight!"
|
| |
| |
| Merry
christmas to everyone from your friends at FRAGtopia. |
