'Twas the night before Elections when all through the guild;
Not a member was stirring, and even our emo members were thrilled;
The weapons were hung by the store chest with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The members were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of dead pixels danced in their heads;
And many members in their armor, and I in my great cap, had just settled our GPUs for a long winter's nap,
When out on the guildsite there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my office to see what was the matter.
Away to the site I flew like a rage,
Tore open the bookmark and threw up the homepage.
What did appear to my eyes was clear, it was _________________ laying pixel dead holding a beer.
As I looked at the scene for the killer’s name, I found out the eight members who were to blame.
Then before me did __________ pixel toon reappear, as it drank the final sip from its warm beer.
It then typed the names of the killers in
full, and said what weapons had been
used for the pull.
It was more than one game the toon was killed, as it told which ones and how much resurrection was billed.
And laying its finger aside of the pixel nose,
And giving a nod, up the guildsite it rose;
Then sprang to a sleigh, to its team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard the toon exclaim, ere it drove out of sight—