Well, I'm not dead, but I have found a new fandom... so there might be less stories. Anyway, enjoy this one!
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Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers; I don't even own 'The Night Before Christmas' which belongs to Clement Clarke Moore. I do however own this twisted adaptation of it and anyone who tries to claim it as theirs, except for me, will be sentenced to death by Optimus Prime's speeches.
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Summary: It's Christmas Eve, and the Autobots have a special guest…
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The Night Before Christmas
'Twas the night before Christmas,
When all through the base
Not a prank was occurring,
Not a fight, not a chase;
The armoured stockings were hung
By the makeshift chimney with care,
In the hopes that Saint Nicho-bot
Soon would be there.
The Autobots were nestled
All snug in their beds,
While visions of energon
Danced in their heads;
And Elita in her kerchief,
And I in my cap
Had just settled our CPUs
For a long winter nap;
When out in the forest
There arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my recharge plate
To see what was the matter.
Away to the window
I flew like a flash,
Tore open the safety-shutters
And threw up the sash.
The moon shining over
The new-fallen snow,
Gave a lustre of midday
To the objects below,
When, what to my wondering optics should appear?
But a miniature sleigh
And eight tiny robo-deer,
With a little old driver
So lively and reddy,
I knew in a moment
It wasn't Ole Meggie.
More rapid than F-15 Eagles
His coursers they came,
And he whistled and shouted
And called them by name:
"Now, Slasher! Now, Crasher!
"Now, Trancer and Trickster!
On, Bomb-it! On, Stupid!
On, Dumber and Blitzer!
To the top of the base!
To the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away!
Dash away all!
As old meteors that before
The wild wormhole will fly,
When they meet with an obstacle,
Mount to the sky!"
So up to the base top
The coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of weapons,
And Saint Nicho-bot too.
And then with a twinkling,
I heard on the roof,
The prancing and pawing
Of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head,
And was turning around,
Down the chimney Saint Nicho-bot
Came with a bound.
He was dressed all in armour,
From his head to his foot,
And his plating was all tarnished,
With ashes and soot;
A bundle of prezzies
He had flung on his back,
By Primus it was Starscream
Just opening his pack!
His optics – how they glinted!
His null rays – how scary!
His cheeks were like cyber-roses,
His nose like a robo-cherry!
His sharp little mouth
Was drawn down in a scowl,
And as he caught sight of me,
I was greeted with a growl.
He drank down the energon
That we'd left by a wreath,
It was good standard high-grade,
The slaggin little thief.
He had a thin face,
And seemed a right fairy.
But it was the Screamer,
Looking so scary!
He was ticked off and cruel
A right miserable old elf,
But I laughed when I saw him,
In spite of myself.
The murder in his optics
And a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know;
If I told, I'd be dead.
He spoke not a word,
But went straight to his work
And filled all the stockings;
Then turned with a jerk,
And laying a finger
Aside of his nose,
Stunning me with a null ray,
Up the chimney he rose!
He sprang to his sleigh,
To his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew,
Like the down of a cyber-thistle.
But I heard him exclaim,
Ere he drove through the sky:
"We will win the war, Prime,
You're all gonna die!"
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Well, Happy Holidays, Merry Chistmas and since I'm going to my gran's so I'll see you all around New Year. If I don't see you before.