A poem I made and put on the Battlelog forums - been pretty positive so far!
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the fields,
Not a creature was stirring, not even quads with four wheels.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In the hopes an assault would revive, here or there.
The recons were nestled all snug in their nests,
While visions of headshots and C4 danced in their heads.
And engy’s with their repair tools hot,
Repairing tanks and LAV’s – or maybe not.
When out on C flag there arose such a clatter,
The hotel at Hainan went down with a shatter!
Away on a jet ski I flew like a flash,
A C4 present for an attack ship crash.
The pale sun on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Op locker mountains laid rest to your foe.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a squad of level 100’s who chastise and sneer.
With a little bird, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment they must be from Twitch.
More rapid than eagles in the air they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
“Now Jackfrags! Now, Frankie! Now Lvl and Xfactor!
On Chaboy! On, Enigma! On Matimio and Badger!
To the top of the leaderboards! To the top of the world!
Now kill away! Kill away! Kill away all!”
As the calm before the hurricane on Paracel Storm,
Megladons and T-rexes fill the forums with inform.
Theories are met with trolls who bait,
A DICE dev comes to the rescue before it’s too late.
Meanwhile on Dawnbreaker, I heard on the roof,
The prancing of recons, who just cannot shoot.
As I grew my rage at the silly scene,
I remember now, at least there’s no M16’s!
Dressed in all black, from his head to his spuds,
The spec ops clothes were tarnished with enemy’s blood.
A bundle of motion sensors he had flung on his back,
Lighting up enemies in the glow of your mini map.
The dish on Rogue twinkled, t-rex is heard with a boom!
The flash of black stealth jet, went past with a zoom!
In the support players head, he thinks he’s Rambo,
4 angry squad mates screaming “GIMME SOME AMMO!”
Lars Gustsavsson with his awesome creative and technical team,
Fixing all the bugs and glitches that make little Timmy scream.
Quiet and efficient and carrying on is what they say,
Despite rushing about on the orders of EA.
After laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, from his desk he arose!
He sprang to his step and gave his team a whistle,
And away they all worked on that goddamn nuclear missile!
But I heard him exclaim as DICE went out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good fight!”