‘Twas The Night Before Christmas | Craft Beer Edition
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
many critters were stirring, including a mouse.
The stockings were stuffed with craft beer and flair,
in hopes that King Gambrinus soon would be there.
The drinkers were nestled all snug in their chairs,
while visions of spiced ale danced in their hairs.
And Kornbluth in his ‘kerchief and I in my chaps,
had just settled our thoughts on a long ass nightcap.
When out on the rooftop, there arose such a clatter,
I fell out of my seat and was soon drenched in beer splatter.
Away to the window I lurched like a bear,
tore open the shutter and slipped on a pear.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
gave the sense of midday to my brain that was slow,
when, what to my hazy eyes should appear,
but a gigantic brewkettle and eight drunken reindeer.
With a large, bearded driver, so loaded and rammy,
I knew in a moment it must be King Gamby.
More slowly than sloths, his coursers they came,
and he snickered and shouted and called them by name:
“Now Anchor! Now Avery!
Now, Sixpoint and Left Hand!
On, Founders! On, 4 Hands!
On, Schlafly and Stone!
To the top of the porch!
To the top of the stall!
Now drink away! Drink away!
Drink away all!”
As dry hops that into the cooled wort will fly,
when they come to a hurdle, shoot for the sky
so up to the rooftop the skydeer they flew,
with a keg full o’ beer and King Gambrinus too.
But ho! in an instant I heard on the roof
the tripping and laughing of each little hoof.
As I pulled in my head and tottered around,
down the chimney King Gambrinus fell with much sound!
He was dressed like a meatball, from his head to his foot,
and his robes were all dirty with barley and soot.
A shitload of good beer he had flung on his back,
and he looked like a Saint as he opened that pack.
His eyes – they were glassy! His eyebrows, how merry!
His cheeks were quite rosy, his nose like a cherry!
His broad, goofy mouth was drawn up in a U,
and the beard on his face had tidbits of brew.
The stump of a pipe hung slack from his teeth,
and the smoke it released stank truly of beef.
He had a large face and a nice muffin top,
that shook when he laughed, like a keg of wet hops.
He was happy and plump, a right drunken court jester,
and I laughed when I saw him, just like Uncle Fester.
A Jack Nicholson eye and nod of his head
soon gave me to know the best was ahead.
He slurred several words and spoke to the crew,
filling all glasses with the freshest of brew.
Then poking a finger right into his navel,
he popped up the chimney like some screwball old fable.
He fell into his kettle and belched like a sailor,
while those eight crazy deer peeled out with the trailer.
But I heard him exclaim as he flew out of sight,
“Hoppy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
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