Twas the Night Before Christmas, when we left the club,
Six jews were hungry and craving some grub.
The taxi turned onto Brickell Ave with care,
in hopes that some restaurants would be open down there.
The liquor had flowed late into the night,
to prevent the dreaded hangover, we all needed a bite.
The neon lights of a sign flashed in our eyes,
Munchies was open, what a pleasant surprise!
At 4am we expected greasy food,
But what Munchies delivered was just plain crude.
It all began when we walked through the door,
and saw a roach the size of a small dog scamper across the floor.
We screamed in disgust and almost fled,
but we were determined to chow before retreating to bed.
Chicken fingers, french fries, & mozz sticks were the only options at this venue,
What the fuck was this place? A giant kid’s menu?
My request for jalapeños was denied with a shrug,
But the sous added raw habaneros, talk about cooking with love.
Thankfully I watched him cook, or my friends would have choked,
and fresh lettuce in the quesadillas? Was this a joke?
After 45 minutes of broken spanish clatter,
we were presented with six boxes of unidentified matter.
But wait! It gets better! In the food laid a hair!
We sprang to our feet and got the hell out of there.
In their defense, it was Christmas Eve,
and being at work was, no doubt, a peeve.
Needless to say we won’t visit Munchies soon,
and the moral of this story: stick with La Moon!