T'was the night before Christmas, and all through XI;
"Not an Idiot is stirring," he said with a sigh.
He wanted to game it, but none were online;
He next tried Ventrilo, no Idiots to find.
His wife having left him, from years of abuse;
His drinking and whoring had left no excuse.
So that even his doggie, once there at his feet;
Had pissed on his slippers and shit on his sheet.
And as Idiots both here and in countries abroad;
Celebrated with family the birth of the Lord.
There sat poor Rugger, just more of the same;
No friends to share drink with, nor even to game.
When out in the back yard there arose such a clatter;
He wiped off the tears to see what was the matter.
He ran to the window without lifting the sash;
It took eighteen stiches, to sew up the gash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow;
Gave pause to consider what tits were below.
When what to his red, bloodshot eyes should appear;
But a rusty old Ford with a bad steering gear.
With a little old driver, his hand on his stick;
Rug knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick.
He was dressed in red undies with a bag at his side;
And jerked on his wanker while trying to ride.
He smashed into a tree and bounced off of a wall;
and knocked Rug's front porch to the back of the hall.
He climbed out of the wreckage still holding his dick;
And said to poor Rug "Where's the party, you prick?"
"Not here, that's for sure," Rugs explained to the drunk;
"They've all gone and left me, yes, even that cunt.
"If you want a Budweiser come in if you please;
"I'm so lonesome I'd even get down on my knees."
"So tell me your story," St. Nick asked of Rug;
"Why is it you're feeling like some lowly slug?"
"Has everyone left you because you smoke weed?
"Because you're a drunk or don't see to their need?"
"Oh, in part that is true," Rug told the old twit;
"Without any doubt I'm a large piece of shit."
"But what did me in, and it's surely no lie;
"Was all the time spent, in running XI."
Bewildered and drunk, St. Nick had to ask;
"What in the hell is XI you dumb ass?"
"It's a large group of gamers, the best you will find;
"We shoot at each other, and do it online."
"There's Greywolf and Ph4nt0m, and RickJames and Rock;
"There's X-Ray and Bama and SirHurtsALot.
"There's Harry, that good looking man about town;
"And P-Man and Loader and Beers, that old clown."
"There's 500 member or so in the clan;
"And we are the best to be found in the land.
"The wife said 'it's me or XI you old fuck;'
"So I gave her the keys to my old Chevy truck."
"We play Call of Duty and some other games;
"It's all I've got left or I'd just go insane.
"And now that it's Christmas, I just want to find;
"Some idiots to game with, to help pass the time."
Santa spoke not a word, but went stright to his work;
He pulled out his laptop then turned with a jerk.
And found Rugger's network and with so much ferver;
He fired up death match and hit XI's server.
"I'll frag your nube ass, I'm ready to fight;"
And Santa and Rugger went at it that night.
They played for 10 hours, on two-hour shifts;
And children worldwide awoke with no gifts.
And when it was done Santa took off his hat;
"Fuck flying with reindeer, I'm through with all that.
"I'm done with those elves and Mrs. Claus' pie;
"I want to be part of this clan called XI."
He sprang to his phone, to his team gave a whistle;
"You can all go to hell, or go suck a thistle."
And I heard him exclaim, 'ere he hung up that night;
"I'm now in XI so fuck Christmas. Good Night."