'Twas the count before the hundred, when all through the thread
Not a user was frightened, not even a little dread;
The Bob-ombs were stacked to the ceiling with care,
In hopes that the mods would never be there;
The users were nestled all snug while on the threads;
While visions of betting frolicking in their heads;
With Lonekon in his Arwing, and us on our mats,
Had just ten more to go, we thought this time would be the last.
When out on the forums there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the thread to see what was the matter.
Away to the members list I flew like a crash,
Scanned through the members and looked away in a flash.
The emptiness and void of the updated list,
Surely gave most of us a newly found interest,
When what to our wondering eyes did appear,
But a couple of mods who gave off a little leer,
With cold old tyrant so evil and nasty,
We knew in a moment he must be St. Frosty.
More rapid than eagles his friends they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
"Now, Koopa! now, Xiroey! now Venus and Gatlin!
Come, IsamR! come, Xeylode! come, Mic and N3ON!
To the top of the forums! over them all!
Now post away! post away! post away all!"
As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So down to the editor the mods and admins they flew
To stop the count full of Bob-ombs, and everyone else too—
And then, in a glimpse, we saw in a post
A little gif. How clever, it looks like a ghost.
As we drew in our heads, painfully turning around,
Down the post count St. Frosty came with a bound.
He had a smirk on his face, while wearing a suit,
And his clothes were all tarnished with gunpowder and soot;
A bundle of hammers he had on his back,
And he looked like Death just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they glimmered! that fire, how it makes demise!
His teeth were like jackals, and his face we despised!
His little banhammer was drawn up like a sword,
He thought we were scared, we were really just bored;
The fuse of a Bob he held tight in his teeth,
And the dread, it encircled him like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little Bob-omb
That shook when he laughed, as he threw it in a lob.
He was demonic and dark, a right jolly old "elf",
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of himself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had everything to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And killed the whole count; then turned like a jerk,
And laying a note, all typed and sent,
And giving a nod, out of the thread he went;
He sprang to his "sleigh", to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
I read the note, as he drove out of sight—
“Happy Mod-mas to all, and to all a good fright!”