D
**DONOTDELETE**
Guest
A moldy oldie from the Useless Ideas archives...
UI #49: How The Vorlon Stole Christmas
On a mountaintop cold there lived a Vorlon,
who was older and colder and mean.
He went everywhere in an encounter suit
that was black and brown and green.
He lived above a village called Whoville,
whose residents he'd grown to hate.
He'd tried to forget them, put them out of his mind,
but a Vorlon's memory is great.
Indeed, today he could see them down there,
all scampering about as they played.
For tomorrow was Christmas, which was indeed
their very favorite day.
The Vorlon could see Who number four,
with his longcoat and his scarf,
and next to him Who number six,
whose outfit made the Vorlon barf.
Yes, all eight Whos were out there,
along with K-9, Leela and Ace,
and all the other Companions, too,
were prancing 'round the place.
And they were not alone, no sir!
For there was Sheridan, Delenn and Lennier!
The Drazi and the Markab,
even little Vir!
"Oooh, how I hate them," the Vorlon snarled,
"as they eat their spoo and their flarn,
prancing about like a bunch of fools--
even the Centauri and Narn!
"The Shadows must have touched them all,
this situation must be corrected.
For chaos is evil and order is good,
and must at all costs be protected."
And the Vorlon, he planned, and the Vorlon, he schemed,
and eventually came up with a plot;
and since he had nothing better to do,
he decided to give it a shot.
And when nightfall came, he stole into town,
and stole from each house its Christmas joy.
He took all of the trees, he took all of the food,
he even took all of the toys!
And when he'd robbed the last house blind,
and was taking a final gander,
he heard a sound and spun around--
and there was little Lyta Alexander!
He watched her for a time, quite carefully,
to see what she might try.
She watched him right back, and then she said,
"Why, Santa, why?"
The Vorlon thought a moment,
and then it came to pass,
he scooped her up and boosted her powers,
so now she could kick some *serious* ass!
Then Lyta watched him in stark fear,
uncertain what might await her.
And he knocked her out, threw her in his bag
(since she might be of use to him, later).
And then the Vorlon flew back home,
cackling all the while.
He'd pulled it off! And better yet,
he'd done it with such *style*!
Then the Vorlon turned around and looked
upon the town below,
its streets and roofs all covered with
the white, new-fallen snow.
"Who are you?" he asked, and then he laughed
with vicious Vorlon glee.
"Who gives a damn? I've got your stuff!
It all belongs to me!"
He threw the booty in his ship,
and headed into space.
And pushed a button to send a message
off to the Vorlon race.
And as dawn came, the folk of Whoville woke,
and not a one was tardy.
For though their stuff was missing, gone--
it was still Christmas, and time to party!
And party they did, until a shadow fell
across the little town.
They all looked up and gasped with fear--
a Vorlon planet-killer was bearing down!
The people screamed, the people ran,
but no one escaped the big zap.
Even their houses didn't withstand it for long,
because if it's not Scottish, it's CRAP!
So Sheridan, the Whos and all of their friends
died in the fiery flash,
their lives cut short, their bodies destroyed,
their homes all burned into ash.
Now, the moral of the story
is don't have too much fun.
And never piss off a Vorlon,
even *if* you are "The One"...
Blind Man
------------------
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UI #49: How The Vorlon Stole Christmas
On a mountaintop cold there lived a Vorlon,
who was older and colder and mean.
He went everywhere in an encounter suit
that was black and brown and green.
He lived above a village called Whoville,
whose residents he'd grown to hate.
He'd tried to forget them, put them out of his mind,
but a Vorlon's memory is great.
Indeed, today he could see them down there,
all scampering about as they played.
For tomorrow was Christmas, which was indeed
their very favorite day.
The Vorlon could see Who number four,
with his longcoat and his scarf,
and next to him Who number six,
whose outfit made the Vorlon barf.
Yes, all eight Whos were out there,
along with K-9, Leela and Ace,
and all the other Companions, too,
were prancing 'round the place.
And they were not alone, no sir!
For there was Sheridan, Delenn and Lennier!
The Drazi and the Markab,
even little Vir!
"Oooh, how I hate them," the Vorlon snarled,
"as they eat their spoo and their flarn,
prancing about like a bunch of fools--
even the Centauri and Narn!
"The Shadows must have touched them all,
this situation must be corrected.
For chaos is evil and order is good,
and must at all costs be protected."
And the Vorlon, he planned, and the Vorlon, he schemed,
and eventually came up with a plot;
and since he had nothing better to do,
he decided to give it a shot.
And when nightfall came, he stole into town,
and stole from each house its Christmas joy.
He took all of the trees, he took all of the food,
he even took all of the toys!
And when he'd robbed the last house blind,
and was taking a final gander,
he heard a sound and spun around--
and there was little Lyta Alexander!
He watched her for a time, quite carefully,
to see what she might try.
She watched him right back, and then she said,
"Why, Santa, why?"
The Vorlon thought a moment,
and then it came to pass,
he scooped her up and boosted her powers,
so now she could kick some *serious* ass!
Then Lyta watched him in stark fear,
uncertain what might await her.
And he knocked her out, threw her in his bag
(since she might be of use to him, later).
And then the Vorlon flew back home,
cackling all the while.
He'd pulled it off! And better yet,
he'd done it with such *style*!
Then the Vorlon turned around and looked
upon the town below,
its streets and roofs all covered with
the white, new-fallen snow.
"Who are you?" he asked, and then he laughed
with vicious Vorlon glee.
"Who gives a damn? I've got your stuff!
It all belongs to me!"
He threw the booty in his ship,
and headed into space.
And pushed a button to send a message
off to the Vorlon race.
And as dawn came, the folk of Whoville woke,
and not a one was tardy.
For though their stuff was missing, gone--
it was still Christmas, and time to party!
And party they did, until a shadow fell
across the little town.
They all looked up and gasped with fear--
a Vorlon planet-killer was bearing down!
The people screamed, the people ran,
but no one escaped the big zap.
Even their houses didn't withstand it for long,
because if it's not Scottish, it's CRAP!
So Sheridan, the Whos and all of their friends
died in the fiery flash,
their lives cut short, their bodies destroyed,
their homes all burned into ash.
Now, the moral of the story
is don't have too much fun.
And never piss off a Vorlon,
even *if* you are "The One"...
------------------
Powered by the air you breathe...activated by the water that you and I drink!
