‘Twas the hour before downtime
(With sincere apologies to Clement Clarke Moore)
‘Twas the hour before downtime, when all thro’ the void,
not a cruiser was stirring, not even a pod;
The sell orders were set at trade hubs of yore,
In hopes that the dimwitted would pay a bit more;
The isksellers were settled in their comfortable ways,
their macros running and roids shrinking under their rays,
And the CEO was afk, and I was an idling bore,
hiding from a pirate wanting to settle a score –
When outside the station there was a mighty ‘plosion
I undocked in my ‘thron, my drones were in motion.
My scanners were running, my overview updating,
Controlling my pulse, I hoped I wouldn’t be fainting.
The shimmering nova glinted far away
The infinity of space enough to lead a mind astray;
When, against all possibilities, or so I thought
A signature appeared, its specifications hardbought,
With cackles slicing through coms at impossible revs
I knew in a moment it had to be one of the devs
He moved with a speed unheard of since the nerfs
And he whistled, and shouted, and call’d upon his serfs:
“Now! Ginger, now! Wrangler, now! Navigator, and Chronotis,
“On! Abraxas, on! Atropos, on! EyjoG and Eris;
“To the top of the cluster! To the top of the world!
“Now align quickly, and warp away! Hear my word!”
As forumwarriors when faced with grim reality
they scattered and flew, and none the pity
So up along the axis they the devs flew
What a formidable group, what a splendid crew
And then in a twinkling, I saw one of them dock,
Worried about DT I glanced at the clock.
I followed suit and when into the station,
hoping against hope to glimpse a dev in person:
And lo’ and behold there he was sitting,
pale and malnourished, as it is fitting;
A dark t-shirt with a logo in the front
he noticed my gaze and let out a grunt
His eyes – how they were bloodshot, his skin so greasy,
I must admit, the entire experience has left me queasy;
His teeth they were rotting and falling out,
his hair was on end, the roots clearly white,
In his hand was a can, with foam around the edge,
Around a finger was closed a soiled absolutist’s pledge.
I noted the nerfbat the sign of his might
if he took it and swung, it’d shatter the night
He was lanky and young, a true coder
he instilled in me a true sense of wonder
A spasm in his eye and a shudder of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
and tore down what others had built, gods what a jerk,
And laying a finger up inside his nose,
he digged and he dugged and I gagged and I froze.
He jumped into his Jove ship, the others were coming,
and they joined up outside, their power imposing:
But I heard him exclaim, ere he warped out of sight –
Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good fight.