Twas the night before Christmas, when through the MA.
Not a creature was stirring, not even a BK.
Nik’s were hung by the there props in mid air.
In hopes that HT soon would be there.
The drunks were nestled all snug in their beds,
As visions of map rooms danced in their heads.
While Doobs in his Dora and I in my Yak were Flying at A1 providing a CAP.
When out of the hanger there arose such a clatter.
I dove from up Hi to see what was the matter.
Down to the deck I flew like a flash.
Tore open the throttle threw up the flaps.
When out of the hanger what should appear,
But a miniature Slay, and eight tinny reindeer.
Yes I tried to vulch, I tried to shoot, but he must have had Ratos to take off that quick.
I was all out of E and in a flat spin.
I heard a check six and lost my left wing.
As I bailed from my yak and yanked on the cord.
I heard him on vox giving his ords....
"Now Pyro! now, Rosie! now, Super and Nate!
Quick, Skuzzy! and Sudz, before its to late….
As I look down from my silken life vest.
My eyes grew wide and my heart it did raced
For on the runways North South and West.
They spawned in things from HT toy chest.
An Armoured sheep with guns on its back,
An Octopus with eight puffy acks,
Godzilla was there, but he needed no guns.
His roar was so loud I dirtied my buns…
Then at Co-Alt, a flying PT and that was enough for poor old me…
I reached for the keyboard, I typed “slash dot e f”
I tired to hit enter, tried to escape, but someone got me perhaps it was Nate.
The last thing I saw was the back of the slay, as HT chased Doobs, into the fray.
I was lucky to see it as HT flew by a small label that said
“Yo Daddy Superfly”
