|
Ah... winter-een-mas. the greatest holiday ever invented.
in case you don't have a clue what I'm speaking of, go to wintereenmas.com or just google it if the mods take the site out for advertising.
now, I shall post a poem. I DID NOT write this, the guy who made winter-een-mas did (also the guy who invented the ctrl-alt-del webcomic)
here we go:
'Twas the night before Winter-een-mas, in one darkened arcade,
From the back came the glow, of a game being played;
The power-ups were mighty, the top score was near,
the gamer grinned wide, for Winter-een-mas was here.
As gamers around the world waited with anticipation,
Huddled in groups at their favorite game station;
The lone arcade gamer, with his eyes lit up bright,
Beat the high score, at the stroke of midnight.
Then from the other machines, there arose such a noise,
The gamer startled and spun, clutching his coins;
As the dark arcade lit up, the gamer swallowed his fear
And watched as the Spirits of Winter-een-mas began to appear.
Surrounded by light, they hovered in mid-air,
Such breathtaking beauty, he could not help but stare;
He knew them of course, as all gamers did,
And one by one, recognition set in.
The spirit of action and adventure, the plat former great,
A hero by name, an alpha by fate;
With a whip and a gun, or whatever may be,
Nothing stands in the way, with a princess in need.
Along side him he saw, a rather particular lad,
Quiet by nature, with a desire to frag;
First person shooters are his field, his sole expertise,
And no one is better, at bringing New Member to their knees.
And he wouldn’t mistake, with his many bruises and scrapes,
The one who beats his opponents, into interesting shapes;
It’s the spirit of fighting games, and that’s the reason he drools,
Too many blows to the head, and kicks to his jewels.
Be it a surprise Zergling rush, or skilled micro-management,
Through the fog of war, he saw the spirit could handle it;
Empires had risen and had fallen, under his sole command,
There was no disguising, the real-time strategy fan.
There was the spirit of the racing genre, looking ready to start,
With his goggles and racing gloves, and speed in his heart;
In a plane, or a boat, of just a fast automobile,
He’s always at home, behind some sort of wheel.
And as everyone does, when the vixen of roleplay he saw,
The arcade gamer had to kneel down, to pick up his jaw;
With her mana and hit points, and ten-sided die,
Many fall under her RPG spell, and never know why.
And last, but not least, the patron of sports games,
Ailed by an old football injury, or that’s what he claims;
Yard by yard and inning by inning, year by year,
They say he loves winning… almost as much as beer.
They spoke not a word, but went straight to their labors,
Moving quickly and quietly, without waking the neighbors;
They spread Winter-een-mas joy, and after they were done,
These spirits flew off, for seven days of fun.
They took to the sky, with the whole world to travel,
And gaming spirit to celebrate, to reach the last level;
But as they departed, the lone gamer heard them exclaim,
“A Happy Winter-een-mas to all, and to all a good game!”
Death is pretty final
I'm collecting vinyl
I'm gonna DJ,
The end of the world!
'Cause if heaven does exist
with a kickin' playlist,
I don't wanna miss it at the end of the world!
|
Login
Register
FAQ
Search
Winter-een-mas.
.
... isn't it? I thought yesterday was the last day?
