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Was the night before Christmas, when all through the lot

Not a creature was stirring, not even a grot;

Da 'oomies was hung off the bosspole with care,

In hopes that St. Orkolas soon would be there;

Da boyz was nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of dakka-guns danced in their heads;

And da Warboss in his hammock, and I in my cot,

Had just settled down for a few winks... or a lot.

When out on the lawn there arose such a noise,

I sprang from the cot to see what's up with da boyz.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Racking my shoota and ready to kick ass.

The moon on the wrecks of the new-fallen Guard

Gave the light to see the gits out in the yard,

When, what should I see in the yard making noise,

But a miniature 'speeder, and eight burly Stormboyz,

With a wily old greenskin, so clever like Mork,

I knew in a moment it must be St. Ork.

More rapid than Lightnin's his lackeys they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Oi, Grotsnik! now, Krumhak! now, Poncy and Gitzer!

Oi, Gutrak! oi Dumkrak! oi, Zagfat and Blitzer!

To the top of the Dredd! to the top of the Waaagh!

Now zoom away! zoom away! zoom away all!"

As dry leaves that before the scorcha blast fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, boost to the sky,

So up to the house-top the Stormboyz they flew,

With the speeder full of loot, and St. Orkolas too.

And then, in a second, I heard on the roof

The thudding and stamping of each Ork's hoof.

As I pulled in my gun, and was spinning around,

Down the blasthole St. Orkolas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in swag, from his head to his foot,

And his gear was all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of loot he had flung on his hump,

And he looked like an Assault Marine ready to jump.

His eyes -- how they squinted! his scars how zigzaggy!

His cheeks were like limes, his nose extra craggy!

His wide drooling mouth was open like a cave,

And the breath of his mouth stunk like the grave;

The stump of a tusk sat amongst his teeth,

the wrath of an Ork with whom he'd had beef;

He had a broad face and a big round gut,

That shook, when he laughed while he was kicking your butt.

He was brutal and cruel, a right jolly old Ork,

And I cringed when I saw him, the image of Gork;

A squint of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I wouldn't be stuck in a Dredd;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to the stuff,

And filled all the lootbags; then turned with a huff,

And going back to the hole, he called for a rope,

And climbed up, leaving me looking like a dope;

He sprang to his speeder, to his team gave a shout,

And shot over their heads to get the lead out.

But I heard him yell, 'fore he flew out of sight,

"Merry Ork-mas to all, and to all a good fight!"

---------------------------------------------------

And yes, I made all changes to a classic story myself... as should be obvious in places. Merry Christmas all... yes, I know it's late, I was somewhere 'netless when I came up with it.

Great stuff!

I'm usually a stickler for scansion, but this is pure fun.

Thanks!