Shall I compare thee to a Happy Hour?For thou art cheaper, and more dimly lit.Thy smell of cigarettes is twice as sour,And on thy seat a brace of men might sit.The neon signs which shine above the barAre pale ‘gainst thy burst-capillaried nose,And thy complexion? Pickles in a jarI see upon thy cheek, and not the rose.Thy voice the broken jukebox, thy hair the ragThat wipes the spilléd beer from off the floor,And yet I hear that ev’ry tongue doth wagThou swing’st as freely as the Men’s Room door.So, as I am myself no golden youth,”Bartender, TWO martinis, sans vermouth.”
There once was a Fusco named Lars,Whose happiest hours were in bars.He rang in each New YearWith an intake of beerThat would fill each canal up on Mars.
Budmania almost 14 years ago
Now THAT’S funny….
fritzoid Premium Member almost 14 years ago
Shall I compare thee to a Happy Hour? For thou art cheaper, and more dimly lit. Thy smell of cigarettes is twice as sour, And on thy seat a brace of men might sit. The neon signs which shine above the bar Are pale ‘gainst thy burst-capillaried nose, And thy complexion? Pickles in a jar I see upon thy cheek, and not the rose. Thy voice the broken jukebox, thy hair the rag That wipes the spilléd beer from off the floor, And yet I hear that ev’ry tongue doth wag Thou swing’st as freely as the Men’s Room door. So, as I am myself no golden youth, ”Bartender, TWO martinis, sans vermouth.”
Sherlock Watson almost 14 years ago
Fritzoid, no haiku or limerick or couplet measures up to you. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ 365 happy hours – that’s how Lars measures a year.
fritzoid Premium Member almost 14 years ago
There once was a Fusco named Lars, Whose happiest hours were in bars. He rang in each New Year With an intake of beer That would fill each canal up on Mars.