Since that cold Christmas Eve oh how lengthy a span
Of seasons have passed without old Cracky-Chan
Deigning ever again to show hide or show hair,
To the stalkers and Crackyfags. Does she not care?

Perhaps. Or perhaps that’s to quite understate
Her reasons for vanishing. Maybe it’s hate
That calls itself love and takes love’s name in vain
That’s made sure you will never see Cracky again.

No matter, though Cracky’s been seen here no more,
You still come to these websites to kneel and adore,
To worship each other and slap on the back
All the shits who have seen to it she won’t be back.

You wink at “Old Schwilly” and coyly allude
To Camel, refraining from posting a nood,
And bounteously accord to each namefag their due,
On condition, of course, that they give YOURS to YOU.

And so it goes onward in “cuteness and light”
In the ‘Crackyverse’, just as if that fabled night
The OP’s rhyme speaks of had really occurred,
And as if the reality weren’t such a turd –

A turd made of vanity, ego and spite
And of everything else that made Cracky take flight,
Atop which sit enthroned that same small, ugly set
That our rhymester portrays like cute kittens to pet:

Some stammering wannabe poetes maudits
Who ‘an hero’ on video so everyone can see
They were edge-y and cool and amazing and all
(And still are, cos they didn’t ‘an hero’ at all).

And a pair of ‘best girlfriends’ who think that this week
Talk of ‘gender oppression’ will make them sound chic
Holding court midst a circle of dull Faggot Goats
Who wouldn’t know ‘gender’ if rammed down their throats.

This real Christmas Present to a false Christmas Past
I oppose in the hope that you’ll make it the last
And acknowledge what shits and what liars you are
From whom Cracky, like all decent folk, stays afar.