I wrote this poem for a forum competition on the Ultra Rare Trade group. It won first place.  A Poem about Habbo Gather 'round folks, it's time you're told of a game full of players new and old. The people chat, build rooms, and trade in hopes that we become rich someday. We call it Habbo, short for Habbo Hotel. In reality it's a cheap ass, dirty motel. Casinos were full of intense players hoping to double their loot with prayers. People gambled away all their life savings or stole mum's card to stave their cravings. Havens for addicts, hackers, thieves and more, Sulake forced Habbos to close casino doors.   The darkest times were during the Great Mute a Channel 4 hag pretended to be 11... how cute. No one for months could whisper, shout, or speak. Not even stupid sayings, like "that's on fleek." Most people left, and usercount stayed low We may or may not give thanks to Paul LaFo.   Sulake makes LTD prices break your vault but if you get hacked, it's always your fault. Customer support never grateful to those who helped post-mute Habbo regrow. Unless you happen to have a medical condition they'll never give you a special proposition.   Such is life in Habbo hotel, full of joys and tears but you and I, mate, we will always be here.....