A Visit From St. Nick (a poem)

Heard this from one of my cigar buddies and just had to repost it here!

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the flat I was all on my lonesome, except for the cat;
Earlier that evening, when I got home from work, My girlfriend was waiting, just to call me a jerk;
She called me insensitive, she called me a lout, She called her new boyfriend to help her move out;
Then before she left, just to "even the score," She flushed every cigar from my humidor.
With the smoke shops closed and an Arctic wind blowing, My girlfriend gone and my john overflowing,
I settled on the couch with my old cat Frisky, With lots of self-pity and lots of Scotch whiskey;
Because of the stress, or because of the booze, It wasn't too long before I started to snooze,
But I was not destined for a long winter's nap, When Frisky dug in his claws and sprung from my lap.
As I grabbed at my crotch and screamed out in pain, Thoughts of kitty homicide danced in my brain;
Then I heard a commotion from out on the street, Undoubtedly the noise that caused Frisky's retreat;
I went to the window and lifted the blind, And seriously thought I was losing my mind;
On the street a fat midget all dressed in red, Drove a team of small reindeer pulling a sled.

Whether real or not, onward he came, Whistling to his deer, calling each by his name,
"Now, Cohiba! now, Hoyo! now Monte and R.J.! On, Bolivar! on, Sancho! on, Upmann and El Rey!
To the top of the stoop! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As if sensing my need for a little more proof, Santa and his reindeer flew up to my roof.
I decided to embrace this psychotic break, Fighting these visions would be a mistake,
So I faced the fireplace where I knew he'd arrive, And out flew Santa like a bee from the hive;
I said, "welcome Santa, to my humble home." He replied, "who are you and where is Ramon?"
I told him that Ramon had sold me his lease, And retired to Miami to live with his niece.
Santa started to turn and his bag fell agape, Revealing boxes and bundles of familiar shape;
Then I noticed the robusto clenched in his teeth, Sending out the aroma of aged Cuban leaf;
I said, "don't leave yet", pushed him back in a chair, "You've a long night ahead, and it's freezing out there."
Then I ran to the kitchen to fix him a bracer, A cup of scotch and a sugar cookie chaser.

St. Nick must have thought it was juice from the udder, He shot down four fingers and started to sputter,
His nose and cheeks glowing a redder rose than before, He handed over the cup and asked for some more;
As we drank, he must have seen my look of despair And noticed my humidor, open and bare,
Because he handed me the most wonderful thing, An eight inch cigar with a fifty-four ring!
The wrapper was rich brown, like coffee with cream And smoother than silk with no visible seam;
A thin layer of oil caused the whole thing to glow, Like a deep polished wood, or moonlight on snow,
And the aroma it emitted was so rich and sweet, My brain almost mistook it for something to eat;
Once lit, the draw was neither too loose nor too tight, With a burn so slow I could smoke it all night.
And the flavor! How can I describe perfection? I have never smoked such a complex confection;
I could taste sugar and spice, wood and coffee, There was pepper and chocolate, cinnamon and toffee;
Each draw brought a different blend to the flavor, Some unique combination for my palette to savor;
Somehow each draw I took was able to surpass, The complete perfection of the draws that had past.

I said, "Santa, I have never smoked such a brand, But I noticed your picture here on the band,
And 'El Rey del Norte,' I assume that is you, Does this mean your days making toys are all through?"
Santa smiled a sad smile and slowly shook his head, "I fear the demand for hand-made toys is dead;
My elves are 'Old World' and stuck in their ways, They know nothing of computers or video displays."
"We let the parents take over, we thought we could rest, But we found that work is what elves like the best;
Then the idea hit me -- retrain all of my elves, And premium cigars could fill Santa's shelves;
I've been flying folks out of Cuba since '59, So I called in some markers, I asked for their time;
I flew a few dozen experts up to the Pole, To educate my elves in the art of the roll!"
"Now each year Cuba loses some of its best leaf, And no one has been able to capture the thief;
With this tobacco and skill, and magic and mirth, My elves roll the best cigars on the face of the earth;
I consider this 'recovery,' it's not really theft, Most of my product goes to Cubans who left,
Like the guy who once live here, your old pal Ramon, These folks deserve something for losing their home."
"My supply is quite small, It's used once a year, It's a really good workout for me and the deer;
I'd like to include you, but what can I say? Maybe if production increases some day."
Well I was not about to let opportunity pass, As Santa talked I kept refilling his glass,
And when his speech slurred and his voice became thicker, I discovered that elves could not hold their liquor.
By the time Santa left he was totally pissed, As an "Honorary Cuban" I was put on his list!
He restocked my humidor, it was filled to the brim, And he promised that next year he'd restock it again;
I helped him up the stairs and into his sleigh, He wouldn't be driving, the deer knew the way,
And as I watched the old elf fly into the night, I thought, "what a great Christmas, now who has a light?"