Twas the night before 300 when all through the pod / Not a person was stirring, not even our friend Todd / The mics were on by the computers so bright / In hopes that Gweedo would start the show tonight / The listeners were nestled all snug in their beds / With visions of Nasty dancing in their heads. / And Wally in his jammies / And Milpool in his cap / Had just settled down for a long podcast rap. / When out on the lawn, their arose such a clatter / Milpool sprang from his bed to see what's the matter / Away to the window he flew like a flash / He ran past his favorite, picture of Riot Dash / The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow / Gave a shine to the mics that were poised below / When what to his eyes should he see appear / But a silhouette of Killer, holding a beer. / With a gun nestled deeply into his waist / He said "Dont look at me, or I'll turn your brain to paste!" / I ran to my closet to hide real quick / Where I sit down in the dark and played with my dick.