The first dreadful note hacked its way through the air
Alarming the hung-over Guard in their lair.
It oozed like an over-ripe fruit in their ears
Commissar Ted went through shock into fear.
Squinting, he gazed upon a far hill
As the armory behind him the watchmen did fill.
"Big Betty's Beard, what in God's name is that?"
he exclaimed with a shudder. "It's all bloated and fat!"
Indeed on the hillock the great beastie croaked
Ayatollah Ebola farted then joked:
"My nurglings are hungry, I've travelled quite far,
but look, there's an all you can eat Commisar bar!"
With that tasteless jest a great shape broke the sky
As the mighty tank "Land Shark" went screaming by.
Without changing its course, without warning or slowing
It crested the hill and seemed to keep going.
Straight into space the black beast sailed away
Before crashing to earth making nearby trees sway.
"Onward me boys, it's time for a snack!"
The Unclean One lurched forward without looking back.
Behind him a horde of armored shapes moved in groups
The Warp Sharks chapter, Nurgle's best troops.
Back in the bunker it was looking quite grim
As Commissar Ted spoke to Commissar Tim.
"It might be most prudent for us to take flight."
"You sissified coward, I came here to fight!"
And that was the end of poor Commissar Ted
Tim went and shot him, now he is dead.
"Don't bother to wait for the white's of their eyes
and the first man to abandon this bunker, he dies."
With a leader like that, who could refuse?
And PFC Karl John Smith lit the fuse.
Outside, the battlefield shook with detonations
And Plague Marines died in unexpected cremations.
A gaggle of guardsmen broke cover and booked,
And normally those suckers would have been cooked.
A warp plasma volley should have toasted the ground
But the Noise Marines were no where to be found.
"Where are those head-bangers to support our attack?
Probably off somewhere performing unnatural acts."
Ebola kept going despite early losses
"I'll nail those stupid humans to upside-down crosses!"
The Land Shark roared forward, a death worse than fate
With a slight course correction it turned ratlings to paste.
"Keep shooting you bastards, something's got to give way.
I'm sure it's my life or that tank's life this day."
Just now our pal Tim was feeling the pinch,
As a bolt gun missed his ear by an inch.
A Russ rolled into his limited view
And upon the traitorous horde did it spew
A torrent of fire and scrapnel and hate
"'bout time Sergeant Major, you're almost too late!"
The Imperial beast stood upon an embankment
Covering the field with death like a blanket.
Then out of the sky, like a great winged Saint Nick
"I've come to chew gum and for asses to kick!"
Upon the tank's hood the thing crashed with a clatter
And the Russ shook and shuddered like gelatin matter.
Out of the warp it was Knuckles Malone,
The biggest Bloodthirster to ever leave home.
"Once again Ayatollah we both plainly see
there is nothing you have which can't be taken by me."
"Wakana Matusu Umbata!" it cried.
And drove its big fist through the tank's armored side.
Commissar Tim had his head in his hands
And was dreaming of whiskey and warm foreign lands.
PFC Smith stared, then giggled with panic
As Malone hit the tank like a demonic mechanic.
Ebola stood akimbo and regarded the scene
And picked at some gunk attached to his spleen.
"I was saving this trick for the fight's final act,
but hell, what's the difference. C'mon boys, attack!"
A vicious black mist filled the air with its gas
Which smelled like a burrito from Nurgle's fat ass.
A pack of green shapes from the warp did burst free
And hacked at the 'Thirster with cackles of glee.
"Notify Admiral Heronimus Clay,
aha! We all still might live through this day.
Hold onto your butts!" Tim did declare
And crouched down for cover at the rocket's red glare.
PFC Smith kept his eyes on the show
As the Cruiser dropped bomblets on the battle below.
The whole stinkin army ground to a halt
And looked to the skies, their mission forgot.
A distant black object sped on toward the heath
The bus-sized explosive drifted down like a leaf.
Well, more like an oversized pig did it drop
Or perhaps like a lunch lady laddling slop.
None quite remember what happened next
Since PFC Smith got cut off at the neck.
Commissar Tim has had little to say
Of the horrors he witnessed upon that black day.
Some say he stared straight at the eyes of the beast
Or lost it and soiled his own armor, at least.
Who won? Who lost? Who survived? Who cares?
Only the hung-over guardsmen asleep in their lair.
For it was all in Tim's head, this battle Royale,
And he spoke of it just before he was coralled.
His head filled with voices, his sanity thin,
For Nurgle hasn't forgotten our Commissar Tim.
Now each day Ebola whispers as they strap him in tight:
"Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night."
End.
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