Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the land,
Nothing was played, not even Rock Band.
The controller was charging by the Station with care,
In hopes that a new game soon would be there.
The Sack Boys were nestled all snug in their beds,
While Kratos and Dante chopped evil heads.
And Elena in her blouse, and Drake in his jeans,
Had grown very tired of jumping from beams.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
They sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window Sev flew like a flash,
Rico tore down the curtains and broke the window with a smash.
The fire on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of Hell to objects below.
When, what to their wondering eyes should appear,
But a luxury limo and eight new ideas.
With a little old driver, so hateful and sick,
They knew in a moment it must be Kotick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
“Now, Guitar! now, Drum! now, Violin and Cello!
On, Sitar! On, Trumpet! On, Clarinet and Banjo!
You’ll all become Heroes! To the top of them all!
Now buy away! Buy away! Buy away all!”
He got out his car and went straight to his work,
And billed all the stockings for £150, what a jerk.
He shoved wads of money, up to his nose,
And with a swift click, closer the limousine drove!
He gently stepped in, to Drake gave a scowl,
before adjusting his balaclava and raising his cowl.
But they heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“Modern Warfare 2 caned all your arses. Losers”
