Yay, would you look at the date! It's the night before Masstoberfest! Y'all know what that means dontcha? Yes! Time for your favorite bed time story!
Twas the night before Masstoberfest (2016!), when out on Paul's stoop
Not a creature was stirring, not even a Yoop.
The smoker was stuffed full of wood with care,
In hopes that anyone at all soon would be there.
The pork butts were nestled all snug in their brine,
While out sat the briskets, ageing like fine wine.
And Alice in her sweatshirt, and Paulie in only his cap,
Had just snuggled together for a well needed nap.
When out in the backyard there arose such a clatter,
That Paulie sprang from their bed to see what was the matter.
Away down the stairs he flew sorta like a flash,
Out onto the porch brandishing the paddle from his mash.
The moon on the breast of this bare chested fellow
Caused his neighbors to holler, scream, and then bellow.
Then, who before his squinty little eyes should appear,
But Bird, Cape, and Mort, with kegs full of beer.
With Big John and Dakota sitting by the oven,
Along with Melana and Yooper the token homebrewing women.
Faster than a unicorn from the porch Paulie came,
They all whistled, and shouted, and called him rude names!
"Hey *********! Hey, Masshole! Hey, misguided brewer!
Get kneading! Get baking! Get meat on some skewers!
To the front of them bricks! But watch out you big hick!
Put on some pants before you burn your tiny wick!"
So bad is the smell that pours from his smoker,
It causes the neighbors to contact their real estate brokers.
But to Paulie's house all the cool brewers did fly,
To eat all his vittles and then ask themselves why.
And later, as they recovered, Yooper stole the room,
Telling tales of her imaginary Cardbob, til Paulie lowered the boom.
Then Will the instant soup fiend, slimmed down to almost nothing,
Laughed so hard as some cheese in her mouth Yooper began stuffing.
Smurf was dressed in flannel, from his head to his foot,
A steinbier he was brewing again, guaranteed to taste like soot.
That Melana's mash would stick, a fact we all did know,
Just an excuse to drop to her knees and show how she blows.
Paulie's eyes-how they twinkled! His winks were so merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his perverted stance was so scary!
His pizza paddle was covered in cornmeal so thick
And his oven was hard, 'coz it too is made out of brick.
The bone of a pig he held tight in his teeth,
While the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He stood broad chested, a trident in hand,
And raised up his arms, to flaunt his mighty glands!
He was proud of his cooking, an obvious entertainment hero,
He laughed about his friends who thought he was a zero!
With a flick of his wrist and a twist of the dough,
He created pizza so good, again Melana her mash she did blow.
He still stood their nekkid, an apron to wear everyone did wish,
To hide all his junk, or at least a kettle, cup, pot, or dish.
As time carried on, it began to smell like rot,
Ah, the corpses under his shed, that he totally forgot.
He sprang like an elf to the top of his smoker,
And away we all flew as he swung the fireplace poker.
We heard him exclaim, as he thrust out his junk,
"Go **** yourselves, you big bunch of drunks!"
Happy Masstoberfest Eve y'all!
