‘Twas the Night Before Christmas, from MiddleEasy


Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a flyweight was stirring, not even a Mighty Mouse.
The official Reebok gloves were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.
 
The fighters were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of CM Punk & Conor McGregor danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘UFC Sterling Silver Octagon Logo Necklace with Purple Stone, 
And I in my UFC Championship Replica Belt,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s walkoff KO nap.
 
When out on the cage there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the Xyience Xenrgy stained floor to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up my fake Monopoly cash.
 
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen foe
Gave the luster of yet another fight-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature fight promoter, and eight tiny MMA trained reindeer.
 
With a little old driver, so balding and bright,
I knew in a moment it must be St White.
More rapid than “The Eagle” Khabib Nurmagomedov his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them many names!
 
“Now Velasquez! now, Jones! now, Weidman and Lawler!
On, Pettis! On, Aldo! on Rousey and Dillashaw!
To the top of Zuffa Towers! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”
 
As dry heaves that before the wild Hurricane Yvel fly,
When they meet with an opponent, full mount to the sky.
So up to the tower-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Performance bonuses, and St White too.
 
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and punching of each little hoof.
As I drew on my fake Ian McCall mustache, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St White came with a bound.
 
He was dressed all in illegal chinchilla fur, from his head to his foot,
And his Reebok clothes were all tarnished with Bud Light spills and soot.
A bundle of unsold UFC Toys he had flung on his back,
And he kind of looked like a Bjorn Rebney, just opening his pack.
 
His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how scary!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a Chinook cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a someone who used to teach tae bo,
And the grin on top of his chin was as white as the snow.
 
The stump of CORN NUTS he held tight in his teeth,
And the smell of the sweet deep-fried corn kernels encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a KO face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, Like a bowlful of Golden Corral’s endless buffet jelly!
 
He was chubby and Roy Nelson like, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of him yelling at myself!
A wink of his good eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
 
He spoke not a curse word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings except mine, then turned, flipped me off what a jerk.
And laying his finger inside of his nose,
And giving a fist bump, up the chimney he rose!
 
He sprang to his sleigh, to his fight team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘as he drove out of sight,
“Merry Christmas to all, and to all the real f**king fight fans buy UFC 182 for a good-night!”
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