Post by robohomophobe on Dec 4, 2007 13:17:24 GMT -5
hello I know its been ages since I've been involved but I've had Army and school crap to juggle, so yeah
but I wrote this like waaaaaaaay back under the leadership of DHG and when Ron Burgundy was a major figure:
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the malls,
SexualHarrison was awake, ready to kick Dickholeguy in the balls.
The entrances were barricaded strongly with care,
In hopes that the undead would not show up there.
The Rangers were napping all drunk on the floor,
While Ron Burgundy wandered off to raid a liquor store.
With Shacknews over in Giddings and Caiger Mall totally fucked,
The sign leading into Malton now says, “Welcome to the suck.”
When behind the mall, I heard some commotion,
I sprang from the floor in one lightning quick motion,
Up to the glass door I scrambled to see,
An incredible spectacle, like seeing a sober Ron Burgundy.
The generator inside the building had the fuel running low
In order to power the mall with a vibrant yellow glow.
When, what next appeared before my eyes,
Eight flying reindeer, and this fat dude in the sky.
I recognized the man who sat in the back,
He looked like Kevan, except big, bald, and fat.
Faster than F-18’s those reindeers came,
As a festively plump version of Kevan called them out by name:
“Now Ebert! now, Roeper! Now, Gore and Clinton!
On, Edwards! On, Kerry! On Bush and on Nixon!
Away you zombies, pests and witches!
I’ll headshot you all, cause barhah is for bitches!”
Like crap through a goose the fat man arrived,
Everything was surreal I thought it was contrived.
Above the rooftops, Santa waved his shotgun in the air,
To bring down the hammer of a New Malton Colossus affair.
And then, with a thud, I heard through the ceiling
Santa bringing supplies for reviving and healing.
In admiration I gave out a low whistle,
As Santa head shot a zombie and then reload his pistol.
His eyes, how they twinked!
His chest was so hairy,
His cheeks were like roses, his noise like a cherry!
He carried a flask of scotch, perhaps for good luck,
And told me profanely about how much Pathetic Bill sucks.
The stump of a cigarette he held with his lips,
As he brought out axes with new and improved handle grips
He had a 12 gauge shotgun and many shells a plenty,
Guess how many zombies he killed before he came here, one hundred and twenty.
He was tough and loaded, a jolly old man who battled hell
He told the Rangers that he was a Caiger Mall fan before it fell;
After pouring concrete over the barricades, Santa turned to the Rangers and said,
“If no one else can free run into here, then they’re pretty much dead.”
He freeran to the roof after what he just did,
As Vito Don in the corner giggled like a five year old kid,
I looked out the window as Santa gave the zombies a farewell,
Multiple head shots and a rain of shotgun shells.
He hopped into his sleigh and flew off into the night
As quick as lightning, he was completely out of sight.
Above in the darkness, citizens of Maltons heard Santa shout:
“Merry Christmas everybody! Don’t let the zombies put the lights out!”
just resposting
but I wrote this like waaaaaaaay back under the leadership of DHG and when Ron Burgundy was a major figure:
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the malls,
SexualHarrison was awake, ready to kick Dickholeguy in the balls.
The entrances were barricaded strongly with care,
In hopes that the undead would not show up there.
The Rangers were napping all drunk on the floor,
While Ron Burgundy wandered off to raid a liquor store.
With Shacknews over in Giddings and Caiger Mall totally fucked,
The sign leading into Malton now says, “Welcome to the suck.”
When behind the mall, I heard some commotion,
I sprang from the floor in one lightning quick motion,
Up to the glass door I scrambled to see,
An incredible spectacle, like seeing a sober Ron Burgundy.
The generator inside the building had the fuel running low
In order to power the mall with a vibrant yellow glow.
When, what next appeared before my eyes,
Eight flying reindeer, and this fat dude in the sky.
I recognized the man who sat in the back,
He looked like Kevan, except big, bald, and fat.
Faster than F-18’s those reindeers came,
As a festively plump version of Kevan called them out by name:
“Now Ebert! now, Roeper! Now, Gore and Clinton!
On, Edwards! On, Kerry! On Bush and on Nixon!
Away you zombies, pests and witches!
I’ll headshot you all, cause barhah is for bitches!”
Like crap through a goose the fat man arrived,
Everything was surreal I thought it was contrived.
Above the rooftops, Santa waved his shotgun in the air,
To bring down the hammer of a New Malton Colossus affair.
And then, with a thud, I heard through the ceiling
Santa bringing supplies for reviving and healing.
In admiration I gave out a low whistle,
As Santa head shot a zombie and then reload his pistol.
His eyes, how they twinked!
His chest was so hairy,
His cheeks were like roses, his noise like a cherry!
He carried a flask of scotch, perhaps for good luck,
And told me profanely about how much Pathetic Bill sucks.
The stump of a cigarette he held with his lips,
As he brought out axes with new and improved handle grips
He had a 12 gauge shotgun and many shells a plenty,
Guess how many zombies he killed before he came here, one hundred and twenty.
He was tough and loaded, a jolly old man who battled hell
He told the Rangers that he was a Caiger Mall fan before it fell;
After pouring concrete over the barricades, Santa turned to the Rangers and said,
“If no one else can free run into here, then they’re pretty much dead.”
He freeran to the roof after what he just did,
As Vito Don in the corner giggled like a five year old kid,
I looked out the window as Santa gave the zombies a farewell,
Multiple head shots and a rain of shotgun shells.
He hopped into his sleigh and flew off into the night
As quick as lightning, he was completely out of sight.
Above in the darkness, citizens of Maltons heard Santa shout:
“Merry Christmas everybody! Don’t let the zombies put the lights out!”
just resposting