T'was The Night Before Christmas

[Guest caboose]

TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

 

by Caboose

 

 

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the arena was paralyis

Not a jobber was jobbing, not even Agnes;

 

The tights were hung by the ring with care,

In hopes that Booker Tony soon would be there;

 

The wrestlers were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of Banning Agnes danced in their heads;

And Celes in her 'kerchief, and Popick in his cap,

Had just settled down for Zack Malibu's FreeStyle Rap,

When out on the rampway there arose such a clatter,

Popick sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window Popick flew like a flash,

Pushed aside The SuperStar and threw up the sash.

The spotlight on the battler was anything but mellow

Gave the lustre of mid-day to hardcore objects below,

When, what to Popick's wondering eyes should appear,

 

But Sandman, and EvenFlow beating each other,

With a little piledriver, so bloody and quick,

Popick knew in a moment it must be that useless dick.

More rapid than Naz, Popick's coursers they came,

And JR over-exagerated, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Anglesault! now, Dandy! now, Cobain and GreenMist!

On, Spidey! on Alfie! on, Thunder and Reject!

To the top of the Cage! to the top of the Cell!

Now frogsplash away! five star away! crash all the way to hell!"

As Jingus that before the Mystery Eskimo fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to the arena-top the coursers they flew,

With the mind full of violence, and Caboose too.

 

And then, in a twinkling, Popick heard from the rafters

The smashing and whacking of each metal chair.

As Popick drew in his hand, and was turning around,

Down from the rafters Caboose came with a bound.

He was dressed all in Black, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all dark with flashes of white;

A bag full of weapons he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a warrior just flashing his six-pack.

His eyes -- how they glared! his face how angry!

His cheeks were like ice, his hair like a fire!

His quiet little mouth was drawn down like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as black as the sky;

The stump of a cricket bat he held tight in his hand,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a shroud;

He had a broad chest and big wide pythons,

That ripped, when he tensed like a taut rope.

He was wilful and quiet, a shadow of his old self,

And Popick cheered when he saw him, in spite of himself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave Popick to know he had everthing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And kicked all the wrestlers; then turned with a jerk,

And raising his finger up high in the air,

And giving a nod, up the rafters he rose;

He sprang to his lift, to his foes gave a warning,

And run away they all did, like OJ in a white car.

 

But Popick heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

"I'm coming back now, get ready to fight!"