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  A Merry TFC Christmas from all at the [FMJ] NeoTF Hangout server.

A Christmas Frag - by BuzzKill 'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the map, Not a creature was stirring, no one trying to cap. The pipebombs were laid in the flagroom with care, In hopes that some newbie would soon appear there. Our sniper was hiding with his dot charged bright red, While visions of headshots danced in his head. And Dox in his armor, and I with my gun, Had just settled down for a few rounds of fun. When out on the bridge there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my basement to see what was the matter. Away to the battlements I flew like a flash, Spilled my Crown Royal, and choked on my hash. The moon on the breast of the newly-shed blood, Made it hard to make out my score on the HUD. When, what to my wondering eyes should pop out, But an HW Guy, and eight tiny scouts. The dude was a newbie, that was quite plain to see, As he spammed the whole bridge with his MIRVs and AC. More rapid than eagles his cappers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name; "Now, Caspar! Now, Nae'Blis! Now, Chemie and Star! On, Bubba! On Bee! Sub with a crowbar! To the far side of the bridge! To the top of the wall! Now cap the flag! Cap the flag! Cap the flag all!" As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, They met our SG's, stacked double high. So up to the fort-top the cappers they flew, With their packs full of conc grens, and the HW Guy too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard in the night, The screams and explosions of a huge firefight. As I slapped in a clip, and was turning around, Down the elevator the fatty came with a bound. He was dressed all in blue, from his toes to his head, And his clothes were all tarnished with the blood of the dead. A bundle of weapons he had flung on his back, And he looked like a madman stone wasted on crack. His eyes -- how they glared! His dimples how fat! His cheeks were like eight balls, his nose like a bat! His cross little mouth was drawn up in a scowl, And he must have had Mexican, 'cuz his ass smelled quite foul. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And he scanned for the flag like a backstabbing thief. He had a broad face and a little round belly, That shook, when he fired, like a tub full of jelly. He had two rounds in his legs, a gift from the snipe, And I laughed when I saw him, as I det'd the pipes. In the wink of an eye and a bright flash of red, Dox finished him off with two shots to the head. The room was quite silent as he fell to the floor, His blood a red pool; all the gibs and the gore. And moving his finger, he spoke not a word, His last, desparate act was to flip me the bird. His scouts they all fled, having lost their big gun, Dox gave them all chase, shouting "Run, bitches. Run!" Then I heard them exclaim, as they ran out of sight, "Merry Christmas To All, And To All A Good-Night!" Happy holidays, to one and all.

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