'Twas the night before Kush-mas: An updated classic for a green Christmas
'His shades were pitch black. His eyes red like a cherry'
This Christmas, Aaron Hagey-MacKay is celebrating far more than Santa's return. The Beaverton's senior editor re-imagined Clement Clarke Moore's beloved Christmas Eve tale 'Twas the Night Before Christmas with a pungent twist.
'Twas the Night Before Kush-mas
by Aaron Hagey-MacKay
'Twas the night before Kush-mas, and what I needed most,
Was that my pot be delivered by Canada Post.
The bong was given new water with care,
In hopes my 4:20 soon would be there.
My munchies laid out in an impressive spread,
While dreams of dank ganja danced through my head.
There were Cheetos, and Fritos and Smarties for sweets,
There sat more junk food than recommended one eats.
When all of a sudden there arose such a clatter,
I went to the door to see what was the matter.
A delivery agent, who said I must sign,
For this package before me. Oh, so divine!
I took the box in and unwrapped it right there,
But to my disappointment, my mom sent me underwear,
That's when I took matters into my own hands.
I got out my phone and I dialled up a man,
Who sat in his basement passing the time,
But you had to hang out before he'd sell you a dime.
Was it Joe? Was it Josh? I'd forgotten his name.
My phone just says J-Dawg. Wait! He's out of the game?
"I stopped selling weed and got me a job."
I deleted J's number and started to sob.
But that's when I heard him, on top of the roof.
He came down my chimney, wearing pants fireproof.
'Twas Kush Claus the elf, head to toe dressed in green,
And blasting chill reggae from a boombox machine.
Smoke did surround him, his beard was all hairy,
His shades were pitch black. His eyes red like a cherry.
"Ho Ho Ho," he exclaimed, but then started to cough.
And then coughed and coughed and coughed and coughed.
He was still coughing, for what felt like an hour.
So, I got him some water, to restore his power.
"I come bearing gifts in your time of need,"
And he opened his sack holding all kinds of weed.
The smell, it was skunky and filled up the air,
I picked a sweet indica, to melt into my chair.
He gave new meaning to the word Christmas Trees,
And left calling his reindeer, pulling a busted RV.
"On Doobie, on Reefer, on Mary, on Nixon."
"On Chronic and Endo, Maui-Wowy and Roach."
"Merry Kushmas to all!" he said with a chime.
And that's when I remembered, I've been high this whole time.
Aaron Hagey-McKay is the senior editor at The Beaverton. To hear his dramatic reading, download our podcast or click the 'Listen' button at the top of this page.