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People say my poetry is mostly doom and gloom But I’m a funny person and I’ll prove it to you soon My wit and sharp ripostes are a constant delight Let’s see if I can tell this story to prove I’m right. I had three friends who loved booze And the only time they didn’t imbibe Was when they had passed out Or were taking an alcoholic snooze Each died doing what they loved Drinking, sipping and guzzling Johnny was a straight-forward drunk Mary took refined and dainty lady-like slips And Tommy was an out-and-out guzzler Here are their stories, one by one Pull up a chair and sit, let’s get to it. Johnny’s intake was prodigious His drinking was almost religious He had hollow legs and a hollow head (That’s where all the booze ended up) Johnny never drank from the bottle He always used a glass, a mug or a cup One Saturday Johnny was drinking Gin martinis (not vodka) (two olives) It was his one and only preference Although when he was falling-down drunk I don’t think he knew the difference He was downing martinis like they were water When Fate stepped in, picked her mark And like that, Johnny was a goner The culprit was Johnny’s second olive The first went down without a hitch The second, however, was unpitted Causing a fatal glitch It was a down-right shame and disaster Poor Johnny’s demise could not have been faster. EPILOGUE: Though your legs and head may be hollow Take care when you swallow Stray olives can lead to the pits

Copyright © | Year Posted 2011

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