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 [*DRUNK*] Christmas Story by Loki....
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Skrevet - 24 Dec 2001 :  22:59:00  Vis profil  Send [*DRUNK*]GRAVEFILLER en ICQ besked
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the city
Not a creature was stirring, not even a CT,
The AKs were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that the Counter-Terrorists soon would be there.
The hostages were nestled all snug in their ropes,
While visions of escape nagged at their hopes,
And Kunta in his leathers, and I in my fatigues,
Had just drunk a pint to wait out the siege...

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I rose from my stupor to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like the wind,
Tore open the shutters and threw up my gin.

The moon-cast shadows reaching like claws,
Reminded me that maybe I’d been caught by the law.
When, what to my horror should I see,
But a huge-ass APC, pushed by eight pumped CTs,

With a cool little pimped driver, smoking some hemp,
I knew in a moment it was Grave that bad pimp.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

On, Roachfood! On, Hellspawn! On Odin and Phant!
On, Icebox! On Zion! On, Magic and Vagrant!
I’m tired of your groaning you better shutup,
It’s not my fault you didn’t fill this thing up!

Through the yard they came shrugging off hits,
When they met with an obstacle, crushed it to bits,
So up to the house-top the CTs they went,
With the APC left silent, the gas having been spent.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The unmistakable silenced M4A1’s cute little poof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Grave came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from head to sunglasses,
And his clothes were all covered with lipstick and kisses.
A bundle of drugs he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a druglord just opening his pack.

His eyes -- how they glowed—evoking my fear!
His cheeks were like rocks, his nose a spear!
His trim little mouth was warped in a sneer,
I could clearly make out the DE in his gear.

The stump of a joint he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a thin face and huge muscled arms,
That bulged, when he saw me, to my alarm.

But then I saw that he was here for the holidays,
And I laughed when I saw him, I guess crime still pays.
A wink of his eye and an extended middle finger
Soon gave me to know that he would not linger.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stocking then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his ass,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he shot from his gas.

He sprang to his APC, to his CTs gave a grunt,
And away they all moaned like a big smelly cunt.
But I heard him exclaim, when I could see just his fro,
Merry Christmas dude, just stay away from my ho!

We rock your world

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