Is beer served at Oktoberfest
So different from all the rest?
For, I would like to know what goes in
To make dudes wear lederhosen
Schnitz Faced
Tag: alcohol
Secret Santa
The day before The Night Before
The office turned into a store
With gifts galore from Santa’s stock
At lunchtime, right on one o’clock
A furtive glance across the room
As someone tried to wrap perfume
A figure hunched behind a fern
(the new girl had a lot to learn)
A friend will cough to help a mate
Disguise the sound of Sellotape
Shirley’s eyes revealed a glint
Each time she dropped another hint
In knowing just what not to tell
She kept the weak under her spell
And Andy, bless him, the poor dear
Just hoped he’d get it right this year
For Sue, who longed for something French
He’d bought a Jean-Paul Gautier wrench
Old Davey Wilcox saved a packet
He thought the whole idea a racket
His gifts were met with trepidation
Bought at his local petrol station
All dreams of wintry escapades
Were dashed by half-price wiper blades
Still, pity those who drew Pru’s name
The dowager who ran the game
And claimed the true meaning had gone
Then priced her gift on Amazon
Big Tony came to stuff his face
So ate at an alarming pace
Before they wrapped it up for Luke
Whose wife was just as bad a cook
Stollen, edam, Toblerone
Belgian nougat in a cone
Baby Jesus, Heaven sent
Now came via the continent
I’ve seen several scars happen
Over a slice of marzipan
Paper plates now put aside
Each festive tummy satisfied
Fiona stood to give a toast
But belched up Captain Morgan’s ghost
So Lenny then began to lift
And sift until he found his gift
50 ml of CK One
Would do quite nicely for his son
Aww, it’s lovely… that’s so sweet
As girls are wont to coo and tweet
With every present they unwrap
And gaze upon whilst in their lap
Which makes guys pause and think a bit:
This Santa thing’s made me a hit
That perfume seemed to animate her
I’ll say ‘hi’ at the laminator
So Merry Christmas one and all
Be pleased you got a gift at all
Enjoy that glass of Triple Sec
In your new purple turtle neck
Present Tense
The day I want to bake some bread
You’ll be the first to know
Were you confused that time I said
I need to make more dough?
And should I wish to buy a goat
Around the holidays
Feel free to name it but take note
I’d like it honey-glazed.
A scented candle lets me know
Exactly what you think
You’re hoping when it’s all aglow
At last, my house won’t stink.
That weird liqueur with toads inside
Distilled by monks in France
Soon made me wish that I had died
Then made me shit my pants.
The Cookie Monster sweater seemed
To spread more disarray
On seeing it, the baby screamed
And both cats ran away.
Gym memberships address excess
With weights or on a mat
Do you think I need to de-stress
Or is it that I’m fat?
It’s not the gift, John, it’s the thought
While this, no doubt, is right
It’s what they’ve thought, not what they’ve bought
Which keeps me up at night.
Heart Failure
My valentine suggested wine
I bought the best champagne
Then after making love we dined
On Chocolate Frangipane.
Why don’t we do this every night?
She cooed after our frolics
So, now we do and that is why
We’re toothless alcoholics.
Stone Pillow
On her rounds every night
She’s a curious sight
With her trolley and crushed velvet hat
As she shuffles in shoes
Lined with yesterday’s news
Through the town like a wayfaring cat
Where are you from, Crazy Annie?
What have you done, Crazy Annie?
Now and then she will stop
To peer into a shop
At a world where it never grows cold
Where the ladies dress up
And take tea in a cup
Framed in windows of crimson and gold
What don’t they know, Crazy Annie?
How is it so, Crazy Annie?
They shared kids, a nice home
Worked themselves to the bone
‘Til he left without saying a word
As she started to sink
So she started to drink
After that everything becomes blurred
Have you no friends, Crazy Annie?
Where does it end, Crazy Annie?
At the end of her walk
Near a derelict block
Out of sight, she beds down on the floor
And should anyone ask
It’s hot soup in the flask
Which she’d share if she only had more
Try not to cry, Crazy Annie
It’ll pass by, Dearest Annie
Pour Decisions
I wouldn’t write whilst drunk
Because those thoughts we’ve often thunk
Mixed with suspicions we’ve distilled
Much like one’s drink, ought not be spilled
Alcohol On You Later
My granny’s got two teapots
(this tends to make her wee lots)
Her good one goes out on display
The other she keeps tucked away
When visitors decide to call
The posh pot serves them, one and all
Dispensing cups of Earl of Grey
On her brushed-silver serving tray
A person shouldn’t trivialise
A ritual so civilised
When Elsie Burns, who lives next door
Comes calling ‘round each day at four
The Staffordshire is put away
For it’s too late for Earl of Grey
Gran reaches for her other pot
Whose contents never need be hot
And pours her canny friend a cup
Of mother’s homemade pick-me-up
A nip of whisky leaves them feeling
Life’s too short to drink Darjeeling
No Room For The Unstable
Turned on the radio to discover the media have named today Panic Saturday. Spotting an opportunity, I asked a friend recently diagnosed with acute anxiety if she would like to accompany me into town in the hope we might qualify for free parking. Thirty minutes later Cynthia and I were pulling into a reserved space directly opposite The Booze Bucket, her Prozac prescription clearly displayed on the dashboard next to a large crucifix. Experiencing the same rush as when I find any amount of money, I smirked across at my twitchy accomplice while ratcheting up the handbrake, confident our plan would work. So you can imagine our surprise then when, upon our return a mere nine hours later, we found a £70 ticket with a brusque rebuttal: Acute Anxiety? You’ll have to do better than that, Sweetheart issued by an equally dissociative traffic warden. Now Cynthia can’t watch Top Gear and refuses to leave the house without her Dusty Springfield wig, so I think we know the real victims here.
Mr Ormsby At Large 