‘Twas the night before Flexmas, and throughout the Mall
Not a creature was stirring – no zombies at all.
Those corpses, each one, had been shot through the head,
In the fear that they’d otherwise never stay dead…
The survivors were holed up in underground rooms,
Scared to death that some horrible holiday looms…
But my team-mates (with NERF guns), and I (with my axe),
Were patrolling the hallways, not free to relax.
When out there in the darkness arose such a roar
And the sound of blunt zombie-teeth munching on gore…
Away to the armoury I flew with all speed,
And returned with (quite wisely) a loaded Stampede.
When, what should I see from behind my gunsights,
But a hideous sled pulled by fearsome White Knights.
Driven by a cadaver – pleasant-smelling, he ain’t –
And we knew we were facing the vile Flexmas Saint.
“Fire, Longshot! Fire, Longstrike! Fire Mav’rick and Vulcan!
Fire, Two-Shot! Fire, Deploy! Fire Raider and Recon!
Shoot the head! Shoot the guts! Aim lower! Up higher!
Just fire away! Fire away! Fire away, FIRE!”
The dead saint was dress’d in furs all smeared with blood
And a hideous visage peered out ‘neath his hood;
A sackful of entrails he bore on his back
For to chew on whenever he wanted a snack.
His eyes – how they rotted! How pallid! How vile!
And his sunken cheeks framed a sick lipless dead smile.
His wide drooling mouth dribbled droplets of slime
And the beard of his chin was encrusted with grime.
His maw, and his hands, dripped with gore of all kinds.
And a red trail he left on the Mall floor behind.
He had a vast head and a corpulent gut,
That split when he laughed, spilling dead organs out.
He was fat, dead, and gross; a right hideous freak,
And I aimed for his head, as I let out a shriek,
But the creatures around him – the White Knights – the zeds –
Were already on me, and tore me to shreds.
They spoke not a word, but took very great pains,
To fill bellies with flesh, but let rise what remains.
The Saint laid his finger aside of his nose,
And he gave me the nod; as a zombie I rose.
So I sprang to the slaughter – ate team-mates alive –
In an bloodthirsty frenzy no-one could survive.
But I heard the Saint snarl, as my friends died in fright,
“Cheery Flexmas to all – and to all a White Knight!”