It’s a little rough, but here’s a little Christmas Cheer for my readers…

‘Twas the night before Christmas and through the Brew Haus
Not a creature was stirring, except brewmaster Claus
For the month before while it rained snow and ice
Local brewers were busy making beers filled with spice

During the month beer fans searched their liquor stores with care,
In hopes that favorite seasonal beers would soon be there.
On the night in question, beer drinkers were all snug in their beds,
While visions of dubbels danced in their beer drinking heads.

With mash in its boil, and beer in our pints,
We settled our brains for the long winter nights
The wife in red satin and I settled in for our naps
As Brewmaster Claus was on the floor testing the taps

When down by my fridge there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the ice box I flew like a flash,
Tore open the door and checked out my stash.

The little bulb inside the grand appliance
Gave lustre to the kitchen, a nighttime defiance.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a six mystery bottles – printed with eight tiny reindeer.

With my church key, so lively and hale,
I knew in a moment it must be an ale.
More rapid than 15 seconds of fame,
I drained the bottle then looked at the name!

“Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!”
To his waitresses Brewmaster Claus did call!
“Now pour ale! More ale! Holiday ale for us all!”

I heard him exclaim to his buxom elves on the street,
As, to stay warm, he drank a single malt – neat.
So from kitchen to kitchen the waitress elves flew,
With Brewmaster Claus and six packs of brew.

And then, in a twinkling, as I drank down my beer
I polished off one bottle of holiday cheer.
As I rinsed out my bottle and headed to nap,
Brewmaster Claus tipped his red silk cap.

He was dressed all in silk, from his head to his toe,
With his scantily clad elves he put on a pimping good show.
A keg in his car with a bag full of six packs,
He looked like Father Christmas, in his drunk, snowy tracks.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was sipping beer filled with spice,
And the beard on his face was caked full of ice.

An imperial pint held in his right fist,
My brain registered, despite a drunk mist.
He had a broad face and an impressive beer belly,
That shook when he chugged, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was a beefy old brewer, a jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
He slammed back his beer as he threw back his head,
And set down his pint glass, leaving it for dead.

He spoke not a word, as he continued his work,
And dropping beer at the houses before he turned with a jerk.
He gathered hi elves at Terry’s house, ’round back,
Where they climbed one by one into his fine Cadillac.

He swerved into the street, honking the damn horn,
With his beer elves who belonged more in porn.
I heard him exclaim, as his car careened to the right,
“A very beery Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”