Ganked from mystical_spyral....
A Holiday Poem Most Dire and Horrid
'Twas the day before Gehenna, and all through the land
Not a kindred was stirring, not even the Black Hand;
The bodies were hung from the rafters with care,
In hopes that Father Caine soon would be there;
The Sabbat were nestled all snug in their coffins,
While visions of diablerie came to them often;
And Ravana's fresh mischief, just got him capped,
He finally took that last big dirt nap,
The Technos, they hit him with some quick antimatter,
The Tremere curse was broken, the Assamites got fatter.
Final Night came to the World in a flash,
Tore up the Camarilla and rewrote the past.
Eternal Hearts gave Vykos a new way to grow,
Gave Lucita some action on the end down below,
and the Eye of Hazimel deigned to appear,
in a miniseries that has lasted for over a year,
With a risen Ancient, who knows just which one,
It seemed clear to me that Gehenna had begun.
More twisted than gargoyles his plotting became,
And he called out his brethren, and called them by name;
Now, Malkav! now, Troile! Now, Set and Arikel!
On, Haqim! On Ventrue! On, Nosfer and Gangrel!
To my side this very moment! Now please look alive!
You mustn't forget what I did to the other five!
As oil leeches to the top of Pentex owned dirts,
So the Elder has risen to drink til it hurts,
And over the roof-tops the old one did fly,
With the sleight of his hand, the thin blooded did die.
And then, in a twinkling, the reckoning came
Thousands of hunters entered the game.
But he drew back his hand, and crashed to the ground,
The walls caved in, and we knew we'd been found.
He was dressed for the most part, and covered in blood,
but his clothes were not tarnished with ashes nor mud;
An empty vessel he flung on the table,
I will have no more of this he said, I am not a fable.
His Eye -- how it burned! His temper how torrid!
His fangs were like sabers, his power so horrid!
His acidic mouth spit fires that threatened to grow,
And the hair of his head was almost white as the snow;
The stump of an arm he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had an evil Eye that turned my coterie to gel,
That soon he slurped up and sent merrily to hell.
He was nasty and pale, a right evil old Cainite,
And I freaked when I saw him, for he seemed filled with spite;
A turn of his Eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I was to be dead;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his task,
And pulled out bones and other things, no you don't want to ask,
And laying some fingers aside, he gave me a wink,
For it was Justin Achilli, not some power gamer twink.
Don't worry he said, I am not really Caine,
But if I don't get something to drink, I'm going insane.
What do you mean more blood? Where is the beer?
Fuck this shit, I am getting out of here!
If you must know who to blame for this trash,
it was our webslave, Conrad Hubbard. Stake him if you like