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For Bagmas, I give you....
...my rendition of Twas the Night Before Christmas (less two verses). I included as many members as I could. Sorry if I missed some. Hope you get a chuckle:
Twas the night before Bagmas, when all through the forum
A few baggers were bagging, but not quite a quorum.
The gloves were hung by the platform with care,
In hopes that Alan Kahn soon would be there.
The swivels were nestled all snug on their drums,
While Fingers hands were just about numb.
And Reno in his hood, and UK in his cap,
Were looking for presents that they could unwrap.
When out on the forum there arose such a clatter,
I sprang to my keyboard to see what was the matter.
Away to the screen I flew like a flash,
Moved so quickly, almost burnt off my ‘stash.
A new forum topic appeared from nowhere
But alas, another spammer, lookout, beware.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But Tim to the rescue - bye-bye troll, to your career.
With a few mouse clicks, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment, fuggetabout that chick.
More rapid than eagles his baggers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now Skunk! now, Deano! now, Roc and Deville!
On, Atgatt! On, Spin!, on Metaldad, now chill.
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now bag away! Bag away! Bag away all!"
As bladders that pop when struck with such force,
When they meet with a fist, have no recourse.
So to their platforms, the baggers they come,
With iPods playing loud, they wish to punch drum.
And then, in a twinkling, I saw on YouTube
The finesse and wizardry of “The King” cubed.
As I drew in my head, and was straining to see,
None other than AK, it appeared to be.
He was dressed in warmups, from his waist to his foot,
And his shirt was colorful no ashes, no soot.
A song was playing on his cassette deck,
And he punched like a drummer, no thoughts of a check.
His hands-how they moved! his elbows how fast!
His speed was like lightnin, his moves left me aghast!
His rhythm was flawless, his punches on time,
And his tempo was crazy, man what a crime!
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And pummeled that bag, then turned with a smirk.
And clapping his hands to the time of the song,
And giving a nod, like good ole King Kong.
He finished his song, and the music stopped playing,
But the bag was smoking, for it, he was slaying.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he faded out of sight,
"Happy Bagmas to all, and to all a good-night!"
Twas the night before Bagmas, when all through the forum
A few baggers were bagging, but not quite a quorum.
The gloves were hung by the platform with care,
In hopes that Alan Kahn soon would be there.
The swivels were nestled all snug on their drums,
While Fingers hands were just about numb.
And Reno in his hood, and UK in his cap,
Were looking for presents that they could unwrap.
When out on the forum there arose such a clatter,
I sprang to my keyboard to see what was the matter.
Away to the screen I flew like a flash,
Moved so quickly, almost burnt off my ‘stash.
A new forum topic appeared from nowhere
But alas, another spammer, lookout, beware.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But Tim to the rescue - bye-bye troll, to your career.
With a few mouse clicks, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment, fuggetabout that chick.
More rapid than eagles his baggers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now Skunk! now, Deano! now, Roc and Deville!
On, Atgatt! On, Spin!, on Metaldad, now chill.
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now bag away! Bag away! Bag away all!"
As bladders that pop when struck with such force,
When they meet with a fist, have no recourse.
So to their platforms, the baggers they come,
With iPods playing loud, they wish to punch drum.
And then, in a twinkling, I saw on YouTube
The finesse and wizardry of “The King” cubed.
As I drew in my head, and was straining to see,
None other than AK, it appeared to be.
He was dressed in warmups, from his waist to his foot,
And his shirt was colorful no ashes, no soot.
A song was playing on his cassette deck,
And he punched like a drummer, no thoughts of a check.
His hands-how they moved! his elbows how fast!
His speed was like lightnin, his moves left me aghast!
His rhythm was flawless, his punches on time,
And his tempo was crazy, man what a crime!
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And pummeled that bag, then turned with a smirk.
And clapping his hands to the time of the song,
And giving a nod, like good ole King Kong.
He finished his song, and the music stopped playing,
But the bag was smoking, for it, he was slaying.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he faded out of sight,
"Happy Bagmas to all, and to all a good-night!"
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