Just a wee taste from the bottle,
Warming it in a pottle,
After though imbibing on two quarts,
There will be no driving anything with a throttle…
A beast the drink may be,
To some who can’t drink like me,
But I remember the days from whence I could,
Cooked some back then that tasted like wood…
Ole’ Santa P-Wee likes the bourbon on cold nights,
Hell, he likes it on warm, wet, windy, wifeless nights too,
Fortunately no one tells, his wife never knew,
But when he is found in the outhouse with his head in the hole,
You’d think then that someone would be more the wiser,
Me? I’d rather just smoke me a deep, deep bowl…
© ed ;-) 5/20/09
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And as far as your love of sopping up the hair of the dog, I consumed THE most exquisite bottle of VSOP Madaillon (a gift from a chef I know) on holiday this last three weeks. Rock the Casbah Bubba - and Rufoid ... WOOF!
I'm glad you didn't drive
If you did I'm glad I live in Canada out of your way LOL
I enjoyed the write
Ray { Not a Poet }
WOW - I've heard tales of the Mad Outhouse Smoker who sets their deep, deep bowls on fire, then inhales them - but I never thought it was my own brother the Jersey Devil. I think I need a shot of Beam, and I better get Ma another bottle, she's gonna drink herself into a stupor when she hears this horrifying news!
Brother Pee Wee
With that Beat of Bourbon you only poison yerself! ! !
Edvard(k) the sober Ole Brother
(((HUGS))) love and prayer, Karla. :( I care, too -
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Tx., Karen Lynn. :(