Happy Howlerdays to you~

It is that time of year again, my dearest death-dealing deviants.

The time of year in which cheeks are rosy, holly is jolly, bells are jingled, and all good little Howlers are rewarded for their faithful service to the Reaper of Mars with a visit from none other than that jolly old goblin, Sevro Claus. Please enjoy the following bastardization. 

 ‘Twas the night before Festivus and all through the Den,
Not a creature was stirring, not even Pierce's pen
The GravBoots were hov'ring near the hearth set on hold,
In hope that dear Sevro Claus would fill them with Gold.

The Howlers were stacked up in a cuddly pile, 
while visions of vengeance made them all smile.
Patreon Guy Carl, after a hearty night cap, 
had just settled down for a winter night’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clangor 
that he sprung from his bed: “say, that’s a banger!”
Away to the window, and throw open the shutter, 
upsetting beer cans, and other such clutter 

Lune’s light on the breast of the snow 
gave the luster of midday to the objects below.
When what, to PGC’s wond’ring eyes should appear, 
but a weird little man, whose visage brought fear.

A little Red Goldling, so lithe and so quick, 
and an accompanying stench like to make a man sick.
“Now Carl, I know that you’ve not said your prayers, 
so my razor will now slice through your layers!”

As dry autumn leaves are moved by monsoon, 
Carl dashed to his bed, sure of his doom.
As Sevro proceeded to fuck up his house, 
it was there that he cowered, shook as a mouse.

And as the footsteps rang out in the hall, 
he wished he’d ever grown a set of balls. 
Sevro’s siege of the quaint domicile 
was the worst that’d happened, by a damn country mile.

The Patreon Guy spent the night huddled right there, 
shaking and crying in the grips of despair.
When dawn’s rosy fingers illumined the vault,
He crept down the stairs, having survived the assault.

The Howlers were there, assembled en masse,
Crowing and laughing at the scene of trespass.
They approached him bearing gravBoots full of gore,
A Festivus unlike any ever seen before!

Redder than berries were the dripping entrails,
And the Howlers raised their boots up, as though Holy Grails,
“Patreon Guy Carl, look, do you see? 
The manifold presents dear Sevro left for me!

“The heads and the hearts of all who’ve done wrong,
Sevro was here! He was real all along!”
“Who are all you people, and why are you here,”
Carl then asked, skull throbbing with beer.

“Why we’re the Howlers, you silly old sot,
We’re all here to show you the guts that we got!”
Remembering then the hatchet-faced man,
Carl threw up in his kitchen’s fry pan.

A Festivus custom, new and surprising, 
Was right then established for all those surviving.
Sevro Claus will appear and dispense bloody slaughter,
To any who’ve wronged a Howler son or daughter.

A very happy Howlerdays to one and all, and quadruple-nut gratitude for Emily, Salem, Crescent, and Skipper (your email gremlin and volunteer mods, respectively. Listen to Fade to Obsidian, dummy.) More stuff for you soon.

Until then, 

HLHY
pgc