merry fucking xmas, fya team olson

'Twas the night before Team Olson maxxout xmas

when all through the bar

Not a creature wasnt blacked out, not even Zoe

 Olson

The stockings were hung in 7-11 with care,



In hopes that 2D soon would be there;



The maxx-outs were nestled all drunk on their beds

While visions of coffee flavored sugar milk danced in m1s head;



And m2 in her 1000 count eqyptian cotton sheets, and finn in his jean jacket with a (missing) ipod,



Had just paid for a maxxout 17 hour bus ride

When down in 7-11 there arose such a clatter,



I sprang from my barstool to see what the fuck was the matter.



Away to 7-11, m1 galloped and kicked,



Tore out the her microphone and performed her schtick

The moon on the breast of m1's holiday attire



Gave the luster of decency (fya, i am a liar)



When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,



But a miniature short bus, and eight members of team o (not those fucking reindeer),



With a big fat ol' driver, obviously not jamaican

I knew in a moment it must be a chawbacon



More christmastoe then ever (his wife was to blame)



And he whistled, and shouted, and called the team o members by name;



"Now, AMO! now, M1! now, KMO and MH!



On, Br1! on Packy! on, KGree and Finn!



To the top of the google search! to the top of bookface wall!



Now mbo! tiu! coc! all!

"

As dry leaves that before the team olson hurricane fly,



When they meet a hater, fuck their ass, dont cry,



So to the top of the blog charts, the maxxout posts sure flew,



With the sleigh full of inside jokes (tickets for under the bus too)



And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof



The raunchy dancing of each little hoof.



As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,



Down the chimney 2D, came with a bound.



He was dressed in Team O gear, hollering to Chicago, Brooklyn, and DC

And his clothes were all tarnished with red wine and sangree



A bundle of apple products he had flung on his back,



And he looked like steve jobs just opening his mac.



His ipods how they twinkled! his iphones, filled with apps!



His macbooks were like diamonds, which made their hands clap

His trash mouth was cussing a storm,



But team o didnt care, because that is the norm

The glass of cakebread wine, he poured down his throat,



And the warmth it brought on, team o was a float

They all had full faces, and were all full of wine

(Just the right combo to get way out of line)

They were dancing and prancing, just like team olson does

And everyone got jeal when they saw them (its so obvious)

In a wink of their eye and a twist of their head,



Soon gave everyone knowledge they had nothing to dread;



They spoke all their acronyms, and went straight to their work,



And filled all of the megapixels with their famous smirks

And a little too soon, out of the bar they did leave

And giving a nod, with tricks up their sleeves

They sprang to their taxi, giving team o a whistle

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.



But I heard them exclaim, as they rode out of sight,




"To ALL, Fuck Your Ass!, and to ALL a good-night"