The very first Christmas episode is up. Now, I know what you're thinking: it's only 10 minutes, it didn't need to be sectioned! Well, in interests of trying to keep competition on these as fair as possible, I'm distributing such episodes anyways, so there are as few reasons for Audiosurf to give people different tracks as possible.
A story from the hosts, in lieu of a description:
The Night Before 2-Fort
‘Twas the night before 2-fort, when all through the house
Not a player was stirring, not even a scout
The supply kits were stacked by the respawn with care,
In hopes that the engineer soon would be there;
The players were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of crit shots danced in their heads;
And llamas in their bases, as i begin my sap,
Had just settled down for a long briefcase cap,
When out on the bridge there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the sniper deck to see what was the matter.
Away to the heavy I flew like a flash,
Blew open the soldier and pyro I bashed.
The heavy on the bridge with a medic in tow,
Gave the bluster of a slavic before the reload,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a dispenser placed there by our engineer,
With a little old scout, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be devil turnip.
More rapid than eagles, our scouts they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now, SPY! now, HEAVY! now, MEDIC and SNIPER!
On, DEMO! on SCOUT! on, PYRO and SOLDIER!
To the top of the deck! down the spiral hall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As soldiers that before the blue team they fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, rocket jump to the sky,
So down to the intel room the scouts they flew,
With the floor full of stickies, and sentries too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the mic
The fragging and pwning of each little tike.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the spiral the soldier came with a bound.
He was dressed all in red, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of rockets he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a moron as he gave his head a smack.
His bullets — how they twinkled! his taunts how funny!
His rockets were on target, his crits were money!
His droll little helmet was cocked to one side,
And the shovel on his back was along for the ride;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
and the demo who shot it, was standing beneath;
He had a broad face and a six round shotgun,
That shook, when he shot like a scout on the run.
He was lean and tall, a right solid old man,
And I laughed when I saw him, while fast I ran;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know i was about to be dead;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
He started rocket jumping; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the spiral he rose;
He sprang to the bridge, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the path of a missle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he rocket jumped out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-FIGHT.”
Deadworkers.com
