Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the complex,
Not a creature was stirring, not even the lawyer;
The stockings were thrown on the chimney on a dare,
In hopes that St. Nicholas a fuck wouldn't even care;
Mr. Trash was nestled all snug in his bed,
While visions of scorpions danced in his heads;
And Peter of Katz, with homemade apple cider in his hand,
Had just settled down to watch re-runs of Food Network Stars;
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
Katz sprang from the couch to see what was the matter.
Away to the window he flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the glass.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to his wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature stove, and eight tiny overhyped chefs strapped to it,
With a little clove of garlic, and mighty frosted tips,
He knew in a moment it must be Guy Fieri.
More rapid than line cooks his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Giada! now, Mauro! now, Bobby and Rachel!
On, Alton! on Burrel! on, Ina and Reel!
To the top of the bell! to the top of the stove!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As dry leaves of thyme that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the kitchen-top the coursers they flew,
With the stove full of toys, and Guy Fieri too.
And then, in a twinkling, Katz heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little cook.
As he drew his hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Guy Fieri came with a bound.
He was dressed all I'm Hawaiian, and cargo shorts,
And his clothes were all tarnished with flames from head to toe;
A bundle of DONKEY SAUCE he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And his glasses were cheap and fogged from the snow;
The stump of a burger he held tight in his teeth,
And the oil it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elfman,
And he laughed when he saw him, in spite of himself;
A wink of his eye and a kick of his lips,
Soon gave him to know he had everything to fear;
He yelled "FLAVOR TOWN!", but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings full of Donkey Sauce,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a gang-sign, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his stove, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
SEE YOU NEXT TIME ON DINNERS, DRIVE-INS AND DIVERS!
That's when the Katz so solemnly decided,
He would never again to make his own apple cider.