'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the garage
No engines were purring, it seemed like a mirage.
The stockings were hung by the garage door with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
The Mark VIII’s were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of trophies danced in their heads.
The Blue Flame on the lift, and the CE underneath,
The Battery Tenders plugged in, for a long winter's sleep.
When up on the workbench there arose such a clatter,
The alarm was triggered to alert me of the matter.
I jumped out of bed and flew like a flash,
Grabbing the Mossberg to protect my stash!
No lights were on when I threw open the door,
But what were these shadows moving across the floor?
I flipped on the lights and what did appear,
A jolly old elf, arms full of racing gear!
He had tried to run but I was too quick,
as he stumbled and stammered, he claimed to be “St. Nick”.
I did not believe him, as he called out my name,
And he begged, and he pleaded, as the Mossberg took aim.
"Now, Driller! Come on now, you know who I am!
I’m bringing you presents! Just look at this cam!
A fully built short block! and an intake to match!
Check out this new engine! I built it from scratch!”
He reached in his bag then pulled out a box,
“Have a drink with me, some whiskey on the rocks!”
Jack Daniels and ice, not much better than that,
So I took up his offer and we had a nice chat.
“Now you’ve been a good boy, or so I have heard.”
(I wasn’t yet believing, it all seemed quite absurd.)
“I’ve been checking my list… and checking it twice,
I’ve been charged with sorting out who’s naughty or nice.”
He poured a second round, then went back to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
The bottle half empty, he raised up his glass,
We toasted the future, told tales of the the past.
The room started spinning, I had too much it would seem,
Then I awoke in my bed, from what surely was a dream.
Dazed and confused, I stumbled down the hall,
Part of me still wanting to believe in it all.
I peeked through the door, there was nothing to see,
Feeling disappointed there was no one but me.
I turned to go back, but as I shut the door,
I heard a Mark VIII start up... its unmistakable roar!
It was just right outside! Perhaps just down the street!
I sprinted to the front with no shoes on my feet.
All I got to see was the bright neon glow,
the rear lights reflecting in the newly fallen snow.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight—
“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
No engines were purring, it seemed like a mirage.
The stockings were hung by the garage door with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
The Mark VIII’s were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of trophies danced in their heads.
The Blue Flame on the lift, and the CE underneath,
The Battery Tenders plugged in, for a long winter's sleep.
When up on the workbench there arose such a clatter,
The alarm was triggered to alert me of the matter.
I jumped out of bed and flew like a flash,
Grabbing the Mossberg to protect my stash!
No lights were on when I threw open the door,
But what were these shadows moving across the floor?
I flipped on the lights and what did appear,
A jolly old elf, arms full of racing gear!
He had tried to run but I was too quick,
as he stumbled and stammered, he claimed to be “St. Nick”.
I did not believe him, as he called out my name,
And he begged, and he pleaded, as the Mossberg took aim.
"Now, Driller! Come on now, you know who I am!
I’m bringing you presents! Just look at this cam!
A fully built short block! and an intake to match!
Check out this new engine! I built it from scratch!”
He reached in his bag then pulled out a box,
“Have a drink with me, some whiskey on the rocks!”
Jack Daniels and ice, not much better than that,
So I took up his offer and we had a nice chat.
“Now you’ve been a good boy, or so I have heard.”
(I wasn’t yet believing, it all seemed quite absurd.)
“I’ve been checking my list… and checking it twice,
I’ve been charged with sorting out who’s naughty or nice.”
He poured a second round, then went back to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
The bottle half empty, he raised up his glass,
We toasted the future, told tales of the the past.
The room started spinning, I had too much it would seem,
Then I awoke in my bed, from what surely was a dream.
Dazed and confused, I stumbled down the hall,
Part of me still wanting to believe in it all.
I peeked through the door, there was nothing to see,
Feeling disappointed there was no one but me.
I turned to go back, but as I shut the door,
I heard a Mark VIII start up... its unmistakable roar!
It was just right outside! Perhaps just down the street!
I sprinted to the front with no shoes on my feet.
All I got to see was the bright neon glow,
the rear lights reflecting in the newly fallen snow.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight—
“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”