DFC Humour

Rating:

'Twas the night before Easter, when all through the house,
Not a keyboard was stirring, not even a mouse;

The PCs were patched to the switch with great care,
In hopes that the network soon would be there;

The gamers were nestled all snug by their screens,
Whilst listening to music, downloaded from Bean's;

And Gobs in his towel, and Terry in one too,
Had just settled down to play AOE2;

When out in the kitchen there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the gaming to see what was the matter,

Away to the doorway, I flew like a flash,
Tore into the hall, in my beard and my tash

The lights in the lobby were blinding bright,
Bathing the entrance in an eerie white light;

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a staggering figure, breath stinking of beer,

The face was familiar, I thought "Not again!"
But yes, to my horror it was definitely Gren

His legs were like jelly, but onward he came,
I called to the gamers, I called them by name;

"Look, Mesmer! Look Reuben! Look, Goblin and Angry!
Come on Trebz! Come on Wij! Come on Bean and Foxy!

To the dining room door! And into the hall;
Now dash away! dash away! "He's going to fall!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So off to the kitchen the drunken Gren flew,
Then on past the fridges and into the loo,

And then I heard heaving, his head down the pan;
He sounded to me like a very ill man,

A half an hour later the corpse reappeared;
To the left and the right, down the hallway he veered,

Weird noises and laughter came out of his head,
Unintelligable nonsense, God knows what he said;

He wobbled about, in the lounge gave a show,
How to surf with no water. How to ski with no snow;

He made us all chuckle, he made us all grin,
Unfortunately though the last laugh was on him;

He feel to the floor and crawled into the hall,
With a last fit of mumbling he curled into a ball;

We checked he was breathing and left him to sleep,
Then back to the PCs did the rest of us creep;

We gamed for some time, an old fps,
It seemed like an hour, but was probably less;

When a noise from the hallway, stopped us right in our tracks,
The blood-curdling sound raised the hair on our backs;

He'd thrown up on the carpet, and rolled onto his back,
Fortunately however I'd got an old aquavac.

So I cleaned and I mopped, making sure it was clean,
Not a sorrier face had ever been seen.

A drunken appology was given, in tongues,
Then back to his nap, snoring at the top of his lungs

We left him to sleep went back to gaming and porn,
Then played on through the night, till the break of the dawn

He slept through till mid day, but still wanted to heave,
Too sick to play games, he decided to leave

Not a game did he played and the weekend he missed,
But that's what you get when you'd rather be pissed.

I'm sure it's a party he'd rather forget,
Though that is the beauty of that great Internet.

R.G.Allen, 2002