Caution: this is meant to be humorous and no offense is intended. If you are made mention of and wish to be removed, please ask.
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the site
ban hammers were dropping, Nate flexing his might.
The blog posts were hung on the front page with care,
but a typo remained because Chris Hall was there.
The commenters nestled all snug in their threads,
except Bill P., of course, who wishes GSP dead.
And Eugene with his 'fro, and Nate in his robe,
had just rejigged the site for an SEO probe.
When out in the fanposts arose such a clatter,
Nate sprang from his mod cave to see what's the matter.
Away to the browser he flew in a flash,
with a mouse in his hand to kick in some ass.
The new moon on the breast of newly-typed words,
gave a lustre to BE that seemed so absurd.
When, in front of his eyes was a crater,
in it a miniature sleigh, and seven moderators.
With a jiujitsu driver, beard bushy and thick,
Luke Thomas was there, so fuck old St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles, his coursers they came,
An he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.
"Now Mookie!, now Katgirl! now, Brookhouse and Burkey!
On Fraser, on Anton, on tomvale, you turkey!
To the front of the page! to the sides of the post!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash like a ghost!"
As comments that before a Snowden post fly,
when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the headlines the coursers they flew,
with a bag of ban hammers, and St. Thomas too.
And then, in a twinlking, Nate heard on the street,
the prancing and pawing of fourteen little feet.
As he drank in his ale, and was turning around,
in the doorway St. Thomas came with a bound.
He was dressed in a suit, its quality fair,
and his clothes were all tarnished with Helwani beard hair.
A bundle of ban hammers flung on his back,
and he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.
His eyes - how they twinlked! His face like Matt Brown!
his cheeks were like roses, his mouth never frowns!
His editor's fingers were mashing on keys,
while the beard on his chin just did as it pleased.
So Dallas woke up, and David did too,
even Connor was stirred, took a break from the loo.
No writing took place, the mods they were waiting,
no Judos were chopped, no prog-nosticating.
They were chubby and plump, seven jolly old elf!
so Nate feared when he saw them, in spite of himself!
But Luke winked his eye and twisted his head,
soon gave Nate to know he had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
he laid the ban hammer, and laughed like a jerk.
And pointing a finger above four of his knuckles,
he walked out the door and went with a chuckle.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
and away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and fuck you goodnight!"