The Night Before Bottling

Ralph, I think, is the instigator. I’ve called him other things in my time but I’ll not mention those here. He seems to be the one who says, “I got it. I got it. How about taking the poem The Night Before Christmas and using that, and there’s these gnomes see, and their names are all the same as the wines we made up. Oh, and a bunny rabbit. There’s got to be a bunny rabbit. And a honey wagon, we got to have one of those.”

New colour cartridge and a fresh ream of image quality paper.

So I sat me down in front of the computer and started to work on the graphic for the Night Before Bottling. I found a really nice Christmassy type of thing in one of those multipurpose printing and picture softwares. I just added a mushroom cloud just over the crest of the hill. I also matched in the shadow.

I thought that if there were a big bang, all the forest critters would stop and look before running from the frightful explosion – of the still if you haven’t read the poem yet.

The footprints I left in, sort of imagining again that the manager of the distillery, whoever, had run for it just before it went up. I think it worked pretty well.

Now for the poem itself.

Ralph started the first rough draft through the traditional poem and then passed it on to me. I happened to have some time right then and so played around with it until it was in the shape you see. It still could benefit from a little work, but there you have it.

The Night Before Bottling

‘Twas the night before bottling, and all through the still
Not a creature was stirring, the vapours would kill;
The racking tubes were hung by the vats without care
In hopes that the Campbell brothers would soon clean up there.

The winos were all trying to break through the slats,
In the hopes to steal ninetyproof out of the vats;
And I, not wanting to be stabbed in the gut,
Had just barred the door and welded it shut,

When out in the yard there was a crash, crump and shatter,
I sprang from the office to see what was the matter.
I went to the safe and drew out all the cash,
Tore open the door and started to dash.

A blaze lit the carnage of the junkyard, you know,
And gave a menacing look to the twisted objects below,
And when the dust settled, what should then be shown,
But a used honey wagon, two brothers, eight gnomes.

The brothers were fighting, they were wobbly and drunk,
And smelled like they both had made love to a skunk.
Rolling like tumbleweeds they clawed and they spat,
Then cursed at the gnomes from the ground where they sat;

“Damn Leadpipe, Gesuntheit, damn you Crashing Boar,
You’ll get yours Zik Puppy, Bearhugger, you whores.
To the top of the tank, you dirty old gnomes,
Now haul away, haul away, bring it all home.”

As dry heaves that before the Wild Turkey fly
When they meet with an obstacle, usually your eye,
So up to the warehouse top the cursers they flew,
With a tanker full of shit, two brothers, gnomes too.

And then a great groaning was heard on that roof
Until the whole aggregation fell into the proof
As I drew out my gun, and was turning around,
My bosses, the Campbells, fell down with a bound.

Ralph was dressed all in denim, from his head to his feet,
And his shoes were all covered with smelly excrete
A couple of chainsaws he had flung on his back
And he looked like a lumberjack just about to attack.

His eyes—how they bloodshot, his smile how scary
His teeth were like pickets, his nose red and blurry
The drool from his mouth flowed down to his toes
And his look turned my complexion as white as the snow

Colin, the stump of a roach he held tight in his teeth
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath
He had a weird bearded face, and a distended pot belly
That shook, when he belched like that flammable jelly.

He was tall, he was chubby, a right nasty old elf,
And I gagged when I saw him, in spite of myself
The look in his eye and the cant of his head,
Soon let me know I’d be better off dead.

They spoke not a word, but went straight to their work
And turned up the propane, then lit it, the jerks
I saw Colin laying his finger inside of his nose,
And as Ralph gave me the finger, up in a cloud like a mushroom they rose

I ran for the hills, the still started to thump and to whistle,
And apart it all blew like the wreck of a missile
But I heard them exclaim, ere they dropped from my sight
“Hope you’re happy you gunky, lets go out and get tight.”


So that’s it in toto, and I don’t mean the dog ate it. As you can probably see, we’re starting to get more confident in our presentation, as well as more rude. I guess you can blame me for wandering away from the family rating.

To end off the card we put this on the rear.


And the squishy looking script on the bottom of that has our 'motto', Two men who have spent more that half a century... drunk.

All that and we haven’t even made it to the actual labels yet.