An extremely belated Christmas special starring our favorite hobo-hating conspiracy theorist. Enjoy, or not, whatever, it's a pretty shitty poem.

[hider=How The Question Saved Christmas]
T'was the night before Christmas, and on the streets of Hub City
The Question was roaming on a night that was particularly shitty
When suddenly something caught his eye
T'was a magnificent sleigh high up in the sky
The sleigh flew down to the hellhole of a town
And the Question's face was home to a frown
He knew what this was, t'was the work of the aglets
Hub wasn't well, but he won't leave it to the maggots
He climbed up to the rooftop the sleigh called home
And found a plump old man dressed like a gnome
The vigilante sighed, "They're employing hobos"
"I'll just punch him so hard he flies to Phobos"
Minutes later found the vigilante punching Santa
"Die, die, die," he repeated as his mantra
Soon Kris Kringle was dead at the hands of Q
And suddenly he felt a shimmer make him anew
His suit was red, and his mask grew a beard
"I have to say, this is pretty fucking weird"
He had become the new Santa Claus
After all, it was written in the Santa Clause
That those that kill Santa must take on the mantle
Q knew what to do, it was something he could handle
And so, the Question took the reigns of the sleigh
And many a good child found presents the next day
But those who were naughty day in and day out?
Aglets in their stockings, this you shouldn't doubt
The End.
[/hider]