I've done a fair amount of drinking at the local hipster watering hole lately. They've got belgian ales on tap and no macrobrews save Guinness and PBR longnecks. As I was doing laundry the other day, I came fished a drink napkin from the washing machine and found some little rhyme I'd drunkenly scribbled across it. I don't remember writing it, but it seems as though I merely looked around the joint and scribbled down whatever my eyes fell upon:
Blood red walls, black cats, cadillacs
Belgian beers in fancy queers, a black girl crying lonesome tears
Guinness in the can, Beezlebub and the Son of Man
A smiling monk, two cheesy punks, the bathroom walls splashed in funk
With dirty blues and muted hues, couples laughing two by two
A swanky lead into a tub of mead, then an amber ale to plant the seed.
The stink is in the drink and a stench upon the wench!
A hundred wary buggers, next to broken boozing sluggers
Pulling pints throughout the night
While flexing lily-livered drunken might
The dinge of broken dreams wafting over murderous screams
This the last bastion for the Drinking Man
And on this barstool I make my stand.
An Ode to Lucky 13s
Moderators: Artful Drunktective, mistah willies, NYDingbat, Judge, oettinger, Oggar, Badfellow, Mr Boozificator