Welcome to Ann Arbor Abbey

Welcome to lovely and historic Ann Arbor Abbey, home of Weasel Breweries. Founded in 1993, Weasel Breweries is the most hyped nanobrewery in existence, and for good reasons, though these escape me at the moment.

Soliloquy On This Year's Feast of St. Attila

If we are marked to drink, we are enow
to do our abbey loss; and if to live,
the fewer men, the greater share of beer.
God's will, I pray thee wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for ham,
nor care I who doth feed upon my swine;
it yearns me not if men women's garments wear;
such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet beer,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my ale, wish not a man more.
God's ale! I would not lose a single sip
as one man more methinks would share from me,
for the best booze I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Olde Pyehole, through my host,
that he which hath no stomach to this binge,
let him depart, his passport shall be made,
and crowns for cabfare put into his purse;
we would not drink in that man's company
that fears his fellowship to guzzle with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Attila:
he that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
will walk akilter when this day is named,
and none shall rouse him in the name of Attila.
He that shall drink this day, and live old age,
will yearly on the vigil drink his neighbor's beer,
and say, "To-morrow is St. Attila."
Then he will strip and show his scars,
and say, "This paunch I gained on Attilas's Day."
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, truly,
but he'll remember with convenience
what feats he did not that day. Then shall our names,
familiar in his mouth as backwash-
Athos the Abbot, Olde Pyehole, Lumpkin,
Cormier, Whiggy, brave Bluecher, Moose,
Galore, Torgo, Quintus, Sohenso, and Pathos
be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
and St. Attila's Day shall ne'er go by,
from this day to the ending of the world,
but we in it shall be inebriated --
we few, we happy few, we band of sluggards;
for he to-day that shares his beer with me
shallbe my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
this binge shall gentle his condition;
and gentlemen elsewhere, soberly a-bed,
shallst think themselves accurs'd they were not here;
and hold their manhoods, whiles any speaks
that threw down with us upon St. Attila's Day.

-- by Athos and Pyehole Shakesbeere
(with humble apologies to The Bard)

On The Abbey

Ann Arbor Abbey is home to a loose confederacy of self-congratulatory, monastic sots whose sole, corporate objective (compulsively pursued) is to produce hooch of surpassing spiritual potency, Epicurean quality, and purportedly minimal expense. Many among the laity question the validity of our mission, but as St. Attila, founder of the Attilan Fraternal Order of Brewers Minor, once said during a cross-eyed address to the International Brotherhood of Teamsters, "It beats working for a living! Pour me another, will ya Hoffa, ya marvelous commie pig... now where'd he disappear to... oh, there he is. No wait, that's Nipsey Russell... I gotta get some new drugs!"

Each week, the Monks of Ann Arbor Abbey meet to hold Vespers: a vicious pagan ritual loosely balanced on the age-old doctrinal tripod of brewing, drinking and flagrantly lying to any man, woman, child, or rough facsimile of humanity that will hold still. Membership in the Attilan Fraternal Order of Brewers Minor is by invitation only and is limited to men (being defined as people who say they are men and bring us beer and other stuff). If you would like to apply, write your name on your left buttock and chant "There's no place like home" backwards until we call.

On Using This Website

Observe the Monks of Ann Arbor Abbey at their daily chores: brewing, drinking... brewing. And extensive reading, of course, since monastic life consists of little more than brewing, drinking and reading. And Eating. Not bad, really.

Be sure to meet the Monks of Ann Arbor Avenue before leaving. If they're not around, rifle through their desks and read their mail and steal their loose change. Ask them about life, love and ham. Query at will about brewing beer and making mead. There's no need to steal recipes, cause the Monks are giving it all away for free, according the Rule of St. Attila. Check out the beers and enjoy a stroll through the Weasel Breweries marketing department, but don't even think about stealing the Monks' trademarks; Abbot Athos and Brother Pyehole are rabidly litigious and highly argumentative old coots.

Before you weave out the door, you might drop the Monks a comment and be sure to ask for directions as you leave. The brothers know what you're looking for and have all the right connections.

click to enlarge
Each morning, the monks congregate to uphold the ancient ritual and consult the oracle. Unfortunately, in the diminished spiritualism of these modern times, this is the best we can do.

Special Features

To comment, complain or confess, send email to the Monks of Ann Arbor Abbey.

Copyright © 1997-2007 Kirk R. Humphries and Sandy Marshall. All rights reserved. Weasel Breweries, Monks of Ann Arbor Abbey, and Olde Pyehole are trademarks of Kirk Humphries and Sandy Marshall. And so is a lot of other stuff. So there.

Last update: 12 October 2007