‘Twas the night before Christmas, throughout Prokhorovka
Not a Russian was stirring – all passed out on vodka
The tomatoes in heavies were snug in their bushes
While the bottom tier light tanks made fruitless cap pushes

And I in my arty, breathing by mouth
Hovered my sights on the unspotted south
By now I was tired of this cowardly lot
And said in the chat did I: “Forth, scrubs, go spot”

I popped a shell into our BatChat to prove
They had far worse to fear if they all didn’t move
And so two by two, out of the cap
They all trundled out to the south of the map

And just my bad luck, but who did they spot?
Circon, Fosch, Maxwell, the Unicum lot!
While QB and Jedi brought up the rear
I saw in the chat “Wow Jingles is here!”

And I saw in arty view, out of the fog
A slow rolling tank fleet, led by a TOG.
“I shall not be happy” said he with a thrill
“Until I have me at least one scumbag kill.”

And my team was wiped to the last man in seconds
Not once had I seen such a scrub team, I reckoned.
I rushed to the lake by the side of the hill
To deny all these OP seal clubbers a kill.
But as I rushed down the hill, hitting near 80,
I heard from behind me a “not so fast matey”
A HE shell pummelled me right in the ass
And as I exploded I heard Jingles laugh

“Oh arty, you scumbag, I see you’ve been trolled
Surprise buttsex is the best, I’ve been told,
And so on that note, at the end of this fight
Merry christmas from TOG, and to all, a goodnight.”

-Red Saltire"