Saturday, December 24, 2011

Twas The Night Before Christmas: World Of Tanks Edition

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a Maus;

The Jagdtigers were hung by the Chokepoints with care,

In hopes that The Enemy soon would be there;

The Arty were nestled all snug in the beds,

While visions of One-Shots danced in their heads;

And mamma in her Valentine, and I in my Chaffe,

Had just settled down for a long Malinovka's nap,

When out on the Fjords there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from Spawn Circle to see what was the matter.

Away to the Low Road I flew like a flash,

Tore open the Speed Governor and threw up the sash.

The Matilda on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Bounced off the Mantlet of the Object 704 below,

When, what to my Sniping Reticule should appear,

But a Miniature Sturmpanzer, and eight tiny Leichttractor,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be St. Wespe

More rapid than eagles his Panthers they came,

And he Honked, and Pinged, and called them by name;

"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!

To the top of

Prokhorovka! to the top of the Hill!

Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the T-95 fly,

When they meet with an E-100, mount to the sky,

So up to the house-top the Panthers they flew,

With the sleigh full of Tanks, and St. Wespe too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the Rack

The prancing and pawing of each little Track.

As I Camped the Corner, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St. Wespe came with a bound.

He was dressed all in Armor, from his head to his foot,

And his Cannons were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of Tanks he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a Camper just opening his pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his Hit Box how merry!

His AP were like roses, his HE like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the New Camo Scheme was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a Wet Ammo Rack and a little round belly,

That shook, And Exploded like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A Traverse of this Turret and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And Shot the Enemy; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his IS-7, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the T-50 of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

1 comment:

  1. Bravo!

    Maybe I can fit a quick round in before Santa turns up...