[Previous entry: "Another Freedom Lost"] [Main Index] [Next entry: "A good citizen reports a terrorist threat"]

12/23/2005 Archived Entry: ""The Night Before Christmas in Montana" by Ben Irvin"

WELL, IT MIGHT NOT QUIIIIIITE SCAN, and a few of the in-jokes are very far in. But liberty-loving Montanaphiles will get a kick out of this:

THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS IN MONTANA
by Ba'alaanmaapbaaliinneetisee Bacheei'tche
(aka The Christmas Chief, aka Awaxaawe'she (Big Mountain), aka Ben Irvin)

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the bar
Not a creature was stirring, not even a Western snow-hare;
The stockings were hung by the chimney by Claire,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be thar;
The libertarians were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of freedom danced in their heads;

And Basil in his 'kerchief, and I in my war-bonnet,
Had just settled down for a long winter's rye whiskey keg,
when out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bar stool to see if it was a DEA matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw out the stash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny mule-deer,
With a little old driver, so goofy and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than BATF agents his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and cussed, and took their names in vain;
"Now, Quincy! now, Denise! now, Robert and Vin!
On, Rocky! on Lynda! on, Heather and Greg!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the W-A-L!
Now dash away! stash away! stash away all!"

As dry larch needles that before the wild chinnooks fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the Big-Sky,
So up to the bar-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the saloon's roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my gun, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came like a clown.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his boot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and loot;
A bundle of toys and booze he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a dealer just opening his stash.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like Teddy's, his nose like a Flathead cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a silver-bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as a call-girl from Elko;
The stump of a Flathead cherry wood pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a blue perique wreath;

He had a broad face and a fat Gros Ventre belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of huckleberry-jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly and drunk old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, and spit on myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread as he was not a federal agent in drag;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose as if snorting cocaine,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose without any pain;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a Russian-thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-cause."

Posted by Claire @ 12:11 PM CST
Link