Twas the night before Spam-mas and all through the forum The spammers were blasting and we couldn’t ignore ‘em The rants were all posted on the website with care, In hopes that St. Harlan soon would be there Joeslogic was snuggled all safe in his bed While visions of Viagra danced in his head And headee in her nightie, and I in my jimmy, Had just settled down for a long sweaty shimmy, When out on the lawn there arose such amok, I sprang from the bed to yell, “WTF?” Away to the window I ran like a deer, Grabbed a small trash can and threw up some beer When what to my bloodshot eyes was appearing An old Volkswagen and 8 Fuglydites nearing With a little old driver, so nerdy and darlin’ I knew in a moment it must be St. Harlan More vapid than ‘Chichi his misfits they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name; "Now, Nursey! now, Phatboy! now, Tommy and ‘Mate! On, Smiles! on Grimmy! on, Barry and ‘Grape! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now piss away! piss away! piss away all!" As lawn chairs that during a hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, So up to the house-top the misfits they flew, With the car full of drugs, and St. Harlan too. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Harlan came with a bound. He was dressed all in spandex, from his head to his toes, And he flexed and he vogued and he then struck a pose; A bundle of spam he had poised on his head, And he smirked like Smurfslappa winning the “last to post” thread His eyes -- how they darted! his skin was so blotched! He shook like a wino who’d just run out of scotch! The stump of a crackpipe that was fashioned by Dwaine, Was stuck in his mouth whilst he applied a flame He had a pocked face and a little round ass, That puckered, when he laughed like UT’s crevasse He was flabby and puny, a right jolly old head, And I laughed when I saw him just as I would Schmed A wink of his eye and a twist of his tie, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to buy; He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And killed all the spammers; then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, And snorting a line, up the chimney he rose He sprang to his Volkswagen, to his team gave a yell, And away they all flew like the Hounds of Hell. But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, "IF YOU CAN’T TAKE THE SPAM, GET YOUR OWN FUCKING SITE!!"
Brilliant Maj. It's is amazing what can be created when the forces of boredom, genius, AD/HD and sexual frustration converge.
