'Twas the night before Goonmas, when all through the base
Not a creature was stirring, not even a dretch;
The armory was built by the reactor with care,
In hopes that St. Grangar soon would be there;
The clones were nestled all snug in their nodes,
While visions of med-kits danced in their heads;
And Sarge in his armour, and I in my helm,
Had just settled down for a long martian nap,
When out on the turrets there arose such a clatter,
I spawned from the node to see what was the matter.
Away to the entrance I flew like a flash,
Deconned all the teslas spamming the path.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen mud
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny rein-dretches,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Grangar.
More rapid than lasguns his coursers they came,
And he grunted, and rumbled, and called them by name;
"Now, n00b! now, Phatty............
....zzzz...*snore*
...
